


Exclusive Exceptions

by Kestrelcadiz (CeNedraRiva)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Developing Relationship, Dubious Morality, Engagement, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Marriage Proposal, Oblivious, Obsession, Original Character Death(s), Power Play, Press and Tabloids, Revenge, Romance, Sadism, Smut, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/Kestrelcadiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's plans had been moving very well, of late. With only months 'til the elections, he and Harry had managed to drum up a massive amount of support for their party and were moving into the final stages. Better, Harry had seen sense and given up dating those air-headed bints in favour of Tom himself. Which would be brilliant if he could think about something other than their kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exclusive Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fate's Favourite](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/183007) by The Fictionist. 
  * Inspired by [Logical Considerations](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/218698) by The_Fictionist. 



> Disclaimer: Not only are these characters not mine, not even this version of these characters are mine. They belong to JK Rowling and The Fictionist, respectively.
> 
> This is based off The Fictionist's brilliant story, Fate's Favourite. While this fic does work as a standalone story, I strongly recommend anyone who opens this story should read FF first, and experience Tom Riddle and Harry Potter at their wittiest and snarkiest as they try to convert each other to their way of thinking, while dealing with modern day Voldemort. I mean, what else would you expect from a young Dark Lord stalking the Boy-Who-Lived through time?

Tom couldn't stop thinking about the kiss from earlier. Or rather his own reaction to the kiss with Harry. It was very distracting, actually, which was very unusual for him.

It was the logical option for Harry to date him rather than those airheaded, nice girls he tended to go after. Tom was always looking after Harry, fixing him when he broke, and tempering him like a steel blade. Honestly, their focus was intense enough he was still surprised whenever Harry declared he was dating again. That was just how their relationship worked, and now that included his love life. It was only logical.

Still, he hadn't expected to enjoy kissing Harry. At least not that much. It was exploring an aspect of Harry that he hadn't yet, cataloguing how he reacted to particular stimuli, with the added benefit of keeping Harry happy. Perhaps even a new power over him too. A perfect solution, definitely interesting, enjoyable in its own way. Again, logical.

But then, just the memory, the wet velvet texture of Harry's tongue against his, the sharp pain as Harry bit back, the way Harry moaned when he brushed the top of his mouth…

Tom shuddered. Then snarled as he realised he was once more thinking of the kiss. How could one kiss be so distracting? Or arousing? He had kissed others, fucked others before, if only to see what it was like. Sex was pleasurable at the time, but once he was sated it no longer held any appeal, and he certainly didn't get distracted, hours later, by mere _memories_ of the act. So why was this single kiss from Harry all he could focus on?

Probably _because_ it was Harry. Logic broke down and was sent away for therapy when it met Harry. His plans always came away twisted when it came to him. Tom always had said that normal conventions didn't apply to them. How else could two people so fundamentally different become best friends? Already their entire worlds revolved around each other. No one knew Harry better than Tom, and Harry understood him better than any other person he had ever met. They complimented each other, guarded each other, fought and sharpened themselves on each other. It was true that if he were ever to fall in love someone it would be Harry.

He did love Harry, as much as someone clinically diagnosed with a lack of empathetic emotion could love another. Now he wanted Harry too.

Tom sighed. He couldn't focus like this. Why was Harry so much more distracting when he wasn't there?

* * *

Tom was often appreciative of his imagination. A combination of accurate observations, deductions and conjecture meant he was rarely wrong when it came to predicting and anticipating his enemies and allies. Having a good imagination was highly useful when it came to strategizing and lateral thinking, often allowing him to be entire games ahead of his opponents. He'd also found it very useful in trying to predict and anticipate Harry, who had a habit of thinking and behaving so far outside the box he was in another metaphor.

Yes, he'd always enjoyed having a good imagination.

He felt it was highly unfair that it was being used to torture him.

Of course, Harry had no idea, which just made it worse, and in no way absolved him of responsibility for this state of affairs. He could have gotten past this if it was intentional, could have fought back.

It had been three days since they'd officially started dating, which in practical terms meant interspersing banter with kissing whenever they were alone. Harry was incredibly nervous about going any further, though he was faking casual almost better than ever, and really Tom was fine with that. Harry would set the pace in this relationship, now that Tom had established one. He was the one least comfortable, having only dated women, whereas Tom had experimented with both sexes and long since come to the conclusion they were both boring. He'd said it before, Harry _was_ his preference, and Tom had come to terms with the fact that if he was ever to have a relationship past platonic it would be with Harry.

So waiting for Harry to come to terms with the fact that his own preference was Tom, regardless of orientation, should have been easy. Especially since there was no chance of some airheaded bint moving in and disrupting them.

It was not.

Want, want, want.

It was always there now, and it was transforming even Harry's most banal actions into something suggestive, fuelling his already hyperaware imagination.

Harry caught his gaze as they listened to the speaker drone on and on, something he was listening to with half an ear, drearily boring, but Huxley could be a strong ally in the short term. Harry looked as bored as he felt, barely masked behind polite attention, and rolled his eyes for a second in frustration before turning back. And already his imagination was working, wondering suddenly important questions like would Harry's eyes roll up like that during orgasm, too caught up in his own pleasure? His cheeks flushed, slightly sweaty, moaning breathlessly as Tom fucked him. Or would his eyes widen, catch his own, unable to look away? Images flickered through his mind of the exact scenes, before being forcefully banished.

Tom glowered at the table top, nearly growling when he saw phantom images of himself pinning Harry to it. Stupid libido. Stupid imagination.

Stupid accidentally sensual, coquettish Harry.

And now he was thinking in simple terms, which was even worse.

At least he could banish those fantasies, and focus on the world around him. Much worse was the dream. Which he would think of no further. Not now, when he was making the final steps in such a long dance to power. He would not allow himself to be _distracted_ by Harry.

It was extremely unfair, something he didn't wish to examine the irony of. Until he'd kissed Harry, he'd barely even had a libido, but now the possibility of Harry was there it wouldn't stop whacking the back of his head for attention.

The meeting ended soon after, and Tom apparated home, quickly followed by Harry, who was still absolutely oblivious.

"-so it's probably a good idea to follow up, even if he did take the most tedious way possible to-"

Tom silenced him with his mouth, slipping his tongue between Harry's still parted lips. Harry, to his credit, objected for no longer than a millisecond before enthusiastically reciprocating.

Shifting, he slid his hand under Harry's shirt, to brush on the skin of his stomach. Harry, moaned, pressing closer and trying to take control of the kiss, before freezing and jerking away. Wide eyed, he swallowed, tried to stammer something, before darting away to the relative safety of his room.

Skittish Harry.

Want, want, want.

He had decided the best solution, both to his unusual fixation around kissing Harry and the fantasies now plaguing his excellent imagination, was in fact repeated exposure to Harry. And it did work. Already, he could feel his thoughts falling into more normal channels, thinking of the plans, methods, aims, instead of merely lust. Some of his thoughts weren't even Harry-centric, so nearly back to normal. It didn't hurt that Harry was becoming more accustomed to sexual touch between them either.

All in all, a satisfactory solution. But not fast enough. He was definitely going to start flustering Harry more often. He wasn't sure how long he could keep his own promise to move at Harry's rate.

* * *

Harry was rather introspective as they left the Ministry Ball.

Tom, his lips still buzzing from contact with Harry's, nearly sighed.

To be honest with himself, that was expected. Harry had accepted that they were now publically dating with the same equanimity he did the rest of their public interactions, and, if Tom was judging right, was probably a little relieved to have it out in the open. It was part of the reason they were such a good team.

He walked to the kitchen, and filled the kettle.

"Tea?" he called out.

"Uh, yes please. One sugar." Came the absentminded reply. Tom set about finding two mugs, adding two extra spoons of sugar to Harry's. Harry always said he wanted one when he meant three. As though Tom would judge him for indulging in sugar.

Harry didn't speak until a few minutes later, after he'd drained about half the cup.

"I think we need to talk about this dating thing." Harry glanced up. Tom nodded for him to continue. "Specifically, how much it should intertwine with our regular confrontations."

Tom raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own tea. He had expected doubt, perhaps anger. A step backwards, recalcitrance, now that they were out of the public eye. Really, they had been dating for weeks now and they'd gotten no further than snogging and some light groping. Something was holding Harry back, some caution he wouldn't admit. Probably something about virtue, or the fact that they were both males.

"You want boundaries. Limitations." He stated. Harry met his eyes, his own expression serious, and nodded, before looking back into his teacup. "Elaborate them."

"I'm not saying we should keep things completely separate. That would be impossible. I just-" he hesitated, flicking his eyes back up. "I don't want us to use dating or sex against each other. I don't think this could work otherwise."

With that said, he stared earnestly at Tom, tea forgotten. As if he was trying to impress his way of thinking on Tom's very psyche. Tom nearly sighed. He thought he'd trained Harry out of that particular habit. It might work on his Gryffindors, but next to no one else, least of all him.

"Sweetheart, you honestly believe I'd use pillow talk against you? Your lack of trust in me is astounding!"

Harry snorted, blushing a little.

"I've met you. Dating you hasn't turned me stupid."

Tom grinned, before turning serious again. They didn't often use the big issues against one another, even in their more bitter fights, out of courtesy and a desire not to permanently injure each other. Unethical and amoral as he was, there were some things, some manipulations he just wouldn't use. Not against Harry. It was a case of the loss being in no way close, let alone equal or lesser, to the gains.

Everything smaller was fair game, though. And in the past he had often used Harry's girlfriends or dating habits to get the upper hand, when he wasn't trying to remove them. Harry's concern was warranted, he supposed.

"You didn't answer my question."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly? Yes. I don't think you'd publish in the Daily Prophet or anything,-" Tom remembered with vitriol one of Harry's past girlfriends who had done just that. Her punishment had been rather enjoyable. "-but you'd definitely use sex as a tool against me, like-" Harry paused, looking a little flustered. "Like using, er, pleasure for extortion. And I'd end up trying to do the same to you. I think that would come between us, and destroy any relationship we had."

Tom nodded. What Harry essentially wanted was a guarantee of trust. It was true, after all, that lack of trust had been one of the biggest causes of Harry's breakups in the past seven years or so, right behind Tom himself. Sex and dating relied a lot more on long term trust than the rest of their interactions, the long term kind of trust they shared instead of the short term kind they both lacked. He trusted Harry with his life, literally in the case of his Horcrux. But from day to day, and especially in their games, neither of them could afford to show weakness and trust the other to do what they wanted without an assurance. Instead they fought, struggled, bargained.

Should their relationship be placed in that category, above games and fights, or was it fair game? Could it, even? He didn't believe they would be able to separate their lives that much, at least not for long. It was something he had been wondering himself for a while. This was almost definitely the issue that had been holding Harry back.

There was a definite possibility of Tom using sex to extort a reaction or compliance with one of his own plans, Harry too, to a lesser extent. At least, he would if Tom did. And he had no illusions as to what would happen next should he prove successful. But what if Harry won first? Thinking on his own abnormal reactions to kissing Harry so far, he wouldn't mind a safety net, at least until he had this under control.

Eventually, of course, they'd start trying to manipulate each other through sex, sooner rather than later. It was guaranteed. Power plays were practically how they showed affection.

But he'd let Harry live in his own little bubble of denial. At least until he was gasping for a fresh breath and only his own rule held him back.

Limitations. Hah.

"Okay." He said and took a sip of tea. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Okay?"

"Yes, I agree."

"You agree to what? That you would use sex against me, or that it would come between us?"

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Both. But more specifically, I agree to placing a restriction against using our love lives in our regular interactions. To be reviewed at a later point. Really, dearest, you can be so slow sometimes."

"Oh. Well, good. Actually I'd been expecting a little more struggle than that."

"Well maybe if you had bright ideas more often that wouldn't be a problem."

Harry scowled.

"Shut up, Tom." Tom only smirked. They finished their tea in silence. Harry stood, gathering the mugs to rinse, and Tom wandered to the doorway to wait. He didn't speak until Harry had placed both mugs on the drying rack by the sink.

"Although, I feel I must mention this won't prevent me bartering kisses, control or sex as rewards and prizes." Couldn't give up everything, after all.

Harry's eyes widened as he blushed, but he gave a confident smirk.

"Of course not! I thought that went without saying." Harry stepped closer, pulling him into a chaste kiss, before grinning, dancing away towards his room. "What would be the point of dating, otherwise?"

Tom nearly snarled, catching Harry again and giving him a proper kiss. This one didn't break apart for several minutes, and although many adjectives could be used to describe it, chaste was not one. Harry, now flushed and panting a little bit pulled away first. Again. With a quick "Goodnight, Tom." he ducked into his room. Again.

Tom sighed. Harry was bound to get over his anxiety about going any further soon, something Tom would happily help along.

But he was really getting bored with being patient.

Ignoring the humming of the bond, and the burning of his lips and tongue, Tom turned to his own room.

* * *

He wasn't quite sure how it started, exactly.

For weeks now they had been casually snogging in the privacy of their flat, and since the public announcement, outside it too. It was best to stake a claim like dating Harry Potter in the visibility of the public once in a while. It prevented others from developing egregious ideas. Tom had decided against pushing Harry any further, despite his own want. Harry was still skittish about the idea of sex, even though he was much more relaxed since their talk about boundaries. It wasn't going to be long now until he gave in, but the next move was still Harry's. Tom knew the best way to help him make that move was not through pressuring, but by luring. Seducing.

Teasing.

Tom was generous enough to provide.

He had watched smugly as Harry's eyes would glaze over mid-meeting after Tom gave him a particularly lascivious look. Harry would stutter suddenly, as Tom elegantly wrapped his tongue around a fork at a luncheon. Even the seemingly innocent caress of his fingers over the table caused a blush that Harry struggled to explain to Granger. Harry, of course, realised the sudden seduction was quite intentional, and would spend a great deal of time glaring angrily at him or whispering harshly that "This is neither the place or time for this.". Tom would simply raise an eyebrow in some parody of innocence, as if to say "For what?" and the flustered wizard would huff, before turning to sulk until Tom next caught his attention.

He thought it was completely justified revenge for all of the unintentional teasing Harry had been putting him through in the past few weeks.

Now, though...

It had started out innocent enough, both fighting for dominance, control of the kiss. Tom had the advantage of size and strength but that had never stopped Harry before. Grasping the hair at the nape of his neck he pulled sharply, drawing a gasp from Harry that quickly became a hum at he bit and kissed down his jaw. Harry had tilted his head to expose more of his neck to Tom's teeth and tongue, then forced Tom away, meeting his mouth once more.

But something had changed.

Intangible, yet palpable. Some new confidence in Harry's kiss, the surety of his roaming hands. Surprised, Harry had gained control of the kiss completely, pushing forwards until the back of Tom's legs hit the sofa. At that point, Tom twisted them.

Harry, eyes wide and startled, found himself on his back along the sofa, Tom hovering above him with a smirk.

"Bastard," Harry hissed petulantly, before dragging Tom down to resume the kiss. He smiled into the kiss, even as Harry nipped painfully at his lips, resuming their struggle.

It was not what would be traditionally be called a kiss. It was not soft, not sweet. Teeth bit, hair was yanked, hands were rough. With all his other partners, he knew they would have long ago submitted (or ran). They would lie pliant below him, shivering, wanton. Ready to allow him to do whatever he wanted, practically begging for further coercion. They were followers, sheep, giving up and following his lead. Nothing more than a way to relieve sexual tension and be done with. But with Harry...

Tom slid his tongue deep, curving it to brush that sensitive area at the top of his mouth, causing Harry to shudder. The sharp bite made him hiss, eyes fluttering slightly as Harry tugged hard on his hair. Harry smirked up at him, and Tom had to repress his own shudder, even though he was sure Harry had felt his erection twitch from where it pressed into his thigh. He narrowed his eyes, before renewing the assault on Harry's neck, pressing his hips very deliberately against Harry's. By Harry's gasping and the nails digging into his shoulders, he knew he was successful.

Tom didn't enjoy pain, neither of them did, despite Harry's alarmingly masochistic tendencies. It wasn't that which elevated Harry above the others. With Harry, he had to fight for every inch gained in this courtship. Each interaction was a struggle, a challenge. They were both alphas, leaders, even if Harry was so reluctantly, and neither was willing to concede defeat. To submit was unthinkable. This was a continuation of their regular interactions, the confrontations, the compromises, that intensity translated into the pursuit of mutual pleasure.

And it was absolutely delightful feeling Harry claim him back. He had always said they belonged to each other, but it was so rare whenever Harry reciprocated.

Harry tugged Tom's head to the side, away from his neck with a snarl, and then Harry was glaring at him, all fire and venom. He grinned, deliberate, gloating, daring Harry onwards.

He responded, surging up, not quite enough to flip them, but still unsettling Tom enough to get the upper hand. And then he was trailing nipping, biting kisses all down his neck and Tom temporarily forgot how to breathe. Until Harry settled at his pulse point and sucked, hard. Oh, but that was definitely going to leave a mark. He tightened his grip on Harry's upper arms enough to bruise, his eyes fluttered a little, but he did manage to transform the moan that wanted to come out into a single heavy breath.

That was still enough for Harry, who pressed the advantage, biting and worrying and sucking at the mark, placing more. Damn. Tom hated discovering new disadvantages, rare as they were, that Harry knew how to exploit, especially mid-confrontation when he had so little time to prepare a defence. Of course, right now his body thoroughly disagreed, even trying to expose more skin for Harry to mark. Another shift in their dynamic he knew Harry had noticed when he felt a smile against his neck. At this rate he'd lose, and that was just unacceptable.

Not that he wouldn't mind losing to Harry once or twice, or even many times in the future, but still, not the first time. That would just be weird.

Shifting, he pressed down on Harry with his hips again, which was enough of a distraction to escape Harry's ministrations. Harry growled at the shift, trying to make contact again before falling back with a laugh. The look he gave was entirely too playful, and Tom narrowed his eyes. It was difficult not to laugh himself.

"You really liked that didn't you?"

_Yes._ The bond between them was practically humming with pleasure and lust, and it was getting difficult to tell whom each belonged to, and what was merely a reflection.

Tom decided not to answer. At least not verbally. He captured Harry's mouth again, and the struggle began anew.

Hands working at Harry's shirt buttons, he exposed more skin, brushing his fingers down Harry's chest. Harry sighed, pressing up, one of his own hands slipping under Tom's shirt, nails scratching. Tom bit Harry's tongue in response, who hissed, and yanked at his hair.

Their eyes met, and suddenly it was a race, each trying to get the other's shirt off first.

Tom won, sort of.

Harry had been trying to completely remove Tom's shirt, and as a result, hadn't noticed exactly that Tom had unbuttoned Harry's. Tom, however, decided that as soon as flesh was revealed, the shirt was pretty much off, and began trailing kisses and bites down Harry's collarbone and sternum. So though Harry had done more, Tom won. At least for the moment.

His mouth was quick, his hands strong as he nipped at Harry's chest, soothing each bite with his tongue. Glancing up, he saw Harry's glazed eyes staring at the ceiling, his panting breath hitching each time Tom bit at a nipple. One hand trailed lower, undoing his trousers, and caressing aroused flesh. His eyes flew shut, and he released a whimper as his hips thrust up. Delicious.

Abruptly, Tom found himself being flipped. His eyes widened and he grabbed at Harry as he was rolled off the couch, landing on his back while Harry landed on his chest, winding him. Impulsive man. Although he did appreciate the hand Harry had gotten between his head and the floor. That would probably bruise. Harry was above him, straddling him, eyes still dazed, panting, cheeks flushed, _alluring_. It took Tom a moment to realise he was in a similar state. He _wanted_ Harry. Harry's expression had darkened to what most people would take as a warning. Tom took it as a promise.

Harry shifted.

"I am not doing this here."

"No?"

"No. Our first time will be in a bed, not some tussle on the living room floor." Tom found the rough tone of Harry's voice very…intriguing. He wondered for a second what it would be like to have Harry sound that way every day, which led predictably to thoughts of fucking Harry every day, which in turn reminded him of some very interesting fantasies _…_

But Tom managed to drag himself back to the conversation. Especially since beds had featured in at least a few of said fantasies.

"Our first time, you say."

Harry smirked.

"Call me a romantic." Tom raised an eyebrow at that, to which Harry merely shrugged.

"Of course, darling. Whatever you wish."

Harry grinned and began to get up. Tom caught his wrist, stilling him where he lay.

"I take it that means you've imagined our first time. And the next times too? You imagined us fucking?" His eyes widened, a blush staining his cheeks, visible even through his arousal. Harry's mouth opened to interrupt. "Making love, then? I take that to be a yes."

Harry glared, and pushed himself away, standing. Tom gazed up at him, making no move to sit up.

"Fuck you, Tom. I–"

"Did you?" Tom interrupted. Harry stumbled over his next words, gaping at Tom. "In your fantasies? You did, didn't you. You thought about fucking me, making me writhe and call out in pleasure beneath you."

He stretched languidly as he sat up, moving to stand. Harry stepped back, still gaping, but eyes now slightly glazed. Focusing on the empathetic bond he sent through a healthy dose of lust, feeling distinctly predatory at he saw Harry shiver.

"Or was it the other way around that left you trembling and gasping for more? Do you want me to fuck you?"

Harry's eyes were drifting, roaming across his form where he stood, seeming to rivet on the marks at his neck and intensify. He stalked closer, nearly grinning when Harry's shoulders hit the wall. He was completely fine with Harry wanting to do this in a bed, especially since they would have the rest of their lives to try all the other surfaces in their flat, but Harry was making it far too easy to tease him right now. They'd have to christen the living room wall another day. Or maybe later today. He wasn't fussy.

Tom was only inches away from Harry now, their bodies barely in contact. Harry's eyes were half lidded, and he was blinking a lot. His breathing was heavy. Tom leaned forwards until their lips barely brushed, both of them content to ignore their erections for a moment.

"Well? Do you?"

Harry blinked again, before pushing him away with a glare.

"Bastard!" he snarled, ducking away from the wall and Tom's arms. "Using the bond is cheating!"

"You expected fair?"

He stormed off towards Tom's bedroom, stopping at the doorway to glance over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?"

Tom couldn't help it. He laughed. Harry rolled his eyes and stepped inside.

Still chuckling, he walked forwards, dropping the shirt that was only still on by one sleeve anyway. Harry's voice called out from the bedroom.

"And for your information, I've had fantasies of both, and almost every way. No thanks to you and your bloody teasing!"

And Tom was laughing again.

Entering the room he saw Harry removing his own shirt, tossing it to the floor, moving to work on his trousers. Tom paused to admire the view. Harry was pale, though his arms were tanned, with a dusting of dark hair trailing enticingly past the hem of his trousers.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Harry shirtless, of course, or stripping but this time there was a completely different meaning behind the gesture. That had been simply changing, but this…this felt aimed specifically at him. He moved to mirror Harry's actions.

"Some people say staring is rude," Harry spoke, hands by his hips, in nothing but boxers. Tom slowly trailed his eyes back up, making sure to linger on the bites he'd left on Harry's torso. He met Harry's eyes and smirked.

"These would be the same people who say you should marry Weasley the youngest and have a large brood of redheaded children?"

"Probably."

"I don't feel particularly inclined to listen to them. Apparently neither do you,"

Harry's eyes flicked back up from where they had been wandering across Tom's chest. He sat on the edge of Tom's bed, patting the spot besides him.

"Just…making plans,"

Tom felt it wise not to admit how much the thought of Harry's plans excited him.

Things fell into a pattern again, each trying to overwhelm the other while resisting their advances. Tom was winning, if only because Harry got frustrated more easily. They were both naked now, boxers having been lost sometime in between and now forgotten. Stretched out across the bed, trailing his mouth and hands all down Harry, recording sensitive areas for further study. Nuzzling up his lover's thigh, Harry let out what could only be called a whine when Tom stopped short of his erection. Tom looked up, amused, as Harry blushed and looked away. Not that you could tell with his cheeks already heavily flushed, but Tom could feel mortification seep through the emotion link. He grinned.

"Shut up, Tom." Harry hissed.

"I didn't say anything."

"I said shut up! You were putting your mouth to much better use earlier." Harry gave him a sharp glare at that.

"Oh. You mean like this?" He promptly enclosed the head in his mouth and sucked. Harry gave a cry, his head falling back, hips jerking at the rather sudden stimulation. He felt the embarrassment and indignation fade before the more immediate arousal.

"Oh, um, that's – that's not quite, hmm – not quite what I meant but – uh, s'pose it'll do."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked, being sure to twirl his tongue right against the head. "I wouldn't want you to be, ah, disappointed." He smirked up at Harry's trembling form.

"Ah! Yes, I mean – um – yeah, disappointment, don't want that."

Tom didn't answer, finding much more enjoyment in exploring Harry. Harry wouldn't allow him to stay in control for much longer without putting up a fight, some token resistance. Fortunately, he was at a disadvantage, another Harry was yet to discover was almost mutual. Neither of them were particularly used to pleasure, in the physical sense. Harry, because his cautious nature prevented him from getting that far with dates, and his growing up with the muggles. Tom, for his utter indifference towards dating and otherwise asexual manner, and his growing up in the orphanage. Touch had never been particularly positive for either of them.

Which meant resisting pleasurable touch was…difficult.

As Harry was finding.

Really, for someone who could take the cruciatus nearly every night and barely scream, Harry had no resistance at all to pleasure. So many sessions he could have won back then, had he known…

Harry was panting now, Tom noted. Flushed. His eyes would close for long blinks, one hand clutching the bedsheets as Tom sucked and licked. The other seemed to have found Tom's shoulder, and was gripping hard, nails digging in. Tom shivered. Wordlessly, he summoned a bottle of lubricant from the nearby cabinet, purchased not long after they started dating. Distracting Harry further and coaxing out a breathy moan, he coated his fingers, warming it up, before pressing his forefinger into Harry, up to the second joint. Harry barely seemed to notice, as thoroughly _distracted_ as he was, only giving a sigh and turning his head to the side.

And then he froze.

"Damn it, Tom, you bastard-"

Tom chose that moment to slide the rest of the way in, which caused Harry to gasp and throw back his head mid-complaint. Tom only smirked up at Harry's glare.

"I'll top, then?" he said, wiggling his finger around, searching for that one spot…

"I hate you. This feels bloody weird, you know."

"You're just not used to it."

"Used to it, hah. You're not the one with a bloody finger up your-" Harry yelped, hips rocking, his head falling back. Found it. Tom felt his smirk widen, running his finger back and forth.

"Better now?"

"What the hell is that?" Harry gasped out, still flexing his hips.

"You don't know? Tch, Harry, I thought you might have read up on having a male lover at some point since we started dating."

"S-shut up, you b-bloody bastard, oh!" Harry broke off with a moan when Tom pushed in a second finger, brushing his prostate again. Tom rested his chin on Harry's hip, content to watch his reactions for now. Each of Harry's movements, his moans, his half articulate speech, seemed to make Tom's blood boil further, hotter.

Want, want, want.

And now he could have.

As soon as he finished preparing Harry, naturally.

"It's called your prostate, Harry. A bundle of nerve endings. Very sensitive."

Harry whimpered, but his eyes met Tom's, scowling. Tom tried to look innocent, even as he added a third finger, stretching Harry further. Really, it didn't take much, before Harry was writhing at his fingertips. And he wasn't even touching Harry's cock. Absolutely no tolerance for pleasure.

Tom judged it about time to stop.

Harry shivered when he removed his fingers, eye flashing, not quite as far gone as his reactions might have suggested. Tom hovered over Harry's body, his own erection straining. Harry's mouth worked for a second, before he found words.

"Why'd you stop? I-I mean-"

Tom chuckled, silencing Harry with a kiss. Harry reciprocated, deepening the kiss and trying to outdo him, probably to make up for losing himself when Tom was stretching him. Harry buried a hand in Tom's hair, the other slipping around his shoulders, as Tom positioned himself.

They broke apart, Tom shifting a pillow beneath Harry's hips.

"Have you ever bottomed?" The question shouldn't have been completely unexpected, given their current positions. He thought Harry might have remained incoherent a little longer. But Harry's eyes were clear, sort of, focused on his own.

"You should already know the answer to that." It was rather obvious.

In response, Harry's eyes flashed, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. Message received and understood. _Challenge accepted._

Tom gave his own smirk.

"May I?"

Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead."

Slowly, he began to push inside.

And promptly thanked his own astounding level of self-control, since that was the only thing that kept him slow.

Fuck, but it was bloody glorious, being in Harry. His memories of sex were obviously flawed, or maybe he was just biased, because this was nothing like back then. Of course not, they weren't Harry. It couldn't compare. And shouldn't that kiss between them weeks ago have warned him?

Harry shifted his hips, lifting his legs to Tom's waist and Tom slid in further. All he could hear was heavy breathing, and his blood rushing in his ears. Flickers of pain, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure, filled the bond.

Pulling back, he slipped almost all the way out, and thrust back in. Oh, but that was even better, and Tom couldn't really help the groan that left his lips. Harry hummed in response, flexing his own hips.

It didn't take long to find a rhythm. They were kissing again, sort of, practically breathing into each other's mouths, tongues occasionally brushing.

Harry felt so good, so hot, tight around his shaft. Below him Harry was mewling, eyes squeezed shut, his breath heavy. Tom lowered his head to lick at the vibrant, sensitive marks on Harry's neck. He moaned, wrapping his legs higher around Tom's waist.

Tom's attention was focused solely on Harry. He didn't mind. His attention had often been focused solely on Harry from the moment they met. He found it more intriguing as to why they had never explored something like fucking each other before. Everyone had expected it for years, had seen the way they orbited one another. The passion had always been there, the intensity. But perhaps that was the problem. It would have burnt them to ashes, destroyed what they had. Harry would not have been able to deal with a sexual relationship between them with all the pressures he once faced. He hadn't been as strong then as he was now, not as sure of himself. Tom knew he would have wielded sex much as he would any power over Harry, and would never have truly regarded them as equals.

Harry thrust back, leaning up to bite at Tom's neck, and he promptly forgot about the past. His thoughts faltered under Harry's skilled mouth, nipping and sucking and stroking. They rocked together, Harry humming his pleasure as Tom thrust deep into him. Harry worried at the mark again, following a trail up to his ear lobe, which he proceeded to bite. Hard. Tom's moan came as much a surprise to himself as to Harry, who he felt freeze beneath him. He sensed more than saw the smirk adorning Harry's lips, mischievous energy practically bouncing down the link, and was not entirely taken aback when Harry once more tried to flip them.

A brief struggle ensued, made all the more difficult by the fact they were joined, causing both Tom and Harry to shudder in pleasure more than once. As they settled once more it was Tom who lay flat on his back, Harry straddling his cock. He looked up with feigned casualness, which he knew Harry saw through since they shared a fucking empathetic link. He leaned down, nearly nose to nose with Tom, still with that infuriating smirk on his face.

"Now, is it that I've found a – sensitive – spot?" He said with a wiggle of his hips, interior muscles clamping tight. Tom didn't answer, keeping his expression steady, though he couldn't prevent the reflexive gulp in response.

Harry snorted, sitting up and shifting his hips again with a hum. He planted his hands on Tom's pectorals, digging his nails in until he knew they would leave ten little red crescents across his chest. Tom blinked slowly, ignoring the fact that Harry was able to feel every hitch in his breath and how his heartbeat had nearly doubled in speed.

"Or is it – and I'm just speculating here – is it that you like it when I mark you?" _Yes!_ At that remark Harry dragged his nails down his chest, catching his nipple with one of them. Tom shuddered, his head falling back with a gasp. And promptly cursed his libido when a traitorous little voice whispered that he could just lie there and let Harry explore. He glared up at Harry, who simply smirked back down, and rocked on the spot.

Slowly, Harry started shifting above him, lifting himself up and sinking back down, seemingly experimenting. Slow and deep, followed by fast and shallow. Tom really preferred the faster pace, but it seemed Harry didn't.

He waited.

Harry would probably relax soon, or forget himself in pleasure. That would be his chance to take control again.

Finding a rhythm, Harry began to fuck himself on Tom's cock, humming and sighing, hands pinning Tom to the bed. Not that Tom minded. Harry was making a rather interesting show. Actually he was having a bit of trouble looking away, even as he snuck his hands closer, towards Harry's hips.

Shifting, Harry seemed to freeze for a moment, gasping in pleasure, before repeating the motion, faster, giving out a low groan. Ah. So Harry must have discovered the right angle to hit his prostate…

Sliding a foot up for leverage, Tom thrust up. Harry cried out, surprised, eyes catching Tom's own, dazed, pleasure-drunk, and they were moving in time, thrusting against one another. Hard to focus with Harry moving like that…It took a moment to realise his own groan was echoing Harry's. Harry grinned for a second, speeding up.

Tom gripped Harry's hips, helping lift him higher, tugging them closer. Harry moaned, and reacted, digging his own nails into Tom's shoulder, and Tom hissed, jerking. Laughing, Harry threw his head back, still grinding and rocking.

This wasn't either of them in full control. Harry was on top, even though he was bottoming. It was simple now, both working towards pleasure, all the details had been worked out.

Harry was leaning back, powerful thighs lifting him again and again, as Tom's hands slid up to his waist, brushing over sensitive skin.

Tom sat up suddenly and Harry cried out, his head thrown back, as he slipped onto his lap. He thrust up, penetrating deeper from the new angle. Harry's head lolled back and it seemed like just one continuous moan fell from his lips. He lunged forwards, nibbling once more on Harry's neck.

At some point they had stopped competing for dominance, Tom noticed absently, working now only towards their mutual release. Harry bounced on his lap, in time with Tom's thrusts, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, holding them close. One hand tangled in his hair, bringing them into a messy kiss that seemed to be all tongue and panting and teeth, but still not as sharp as their earlier exchanges.

But that was fine, because this was Harry, Harry who moaned so prettily, responded so beautifully beneath his hands. Harry who drew groans from his own mouth, grabbing at his hair as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. Harry, his equal, his friend, his rival. Harry, his lover. His head fell forwards onto Tom's shoulder, letting out a keening noise, and they were moving together. He felt the arousal, affection, pleasure, trembling back and forth along the link, amplified and reflected again and again. It was like drowning, caught in an undertow, sweeping him around and over and it was too much, it felt too much but it was fine because Harry was here and caught up too, and he knew they were invincible together. Different but complimentary, and spinning, always spinning around each other like binaries.

And suddenly they were falling, because it couldn't last and the dam had broken and he was vaguely aware of Harry shouting his name, and felt Harry's slip from his lips but he didn't really care at the moment.

The orgasm rolled back and forth along the link, drawing softer sounds from both of them well afterwards. Tom blinked, and lazily began to take stock of the situation. Harry was still sat on his cock, internal muscles still occasionally spasming, his head resting on Tom's shoulder.

"Fuuuck." Harry's voice was low, rougher than normal. Tom decided he liked it that way.

"Again, so soon? Well, if you insist…,"

"Mmm. Shut up Tom." The tone was indulgent. Harry proceeded to bury his head in the crook of Tom's neck.

Post coital affection, Tom noted. Now that _was_ something he had expected with Harry. It was, well, nice. Nearly uncomfortable, but not quite, warm. Sentimental.

He lay back, hauling Harry down with him, who shifted, rolling onto his back.

They stared at the ceiling together, heart rates slowing, close enough to share body heat but not quite touching. Which was wrong.

Grabbing Harry's shoulder, he tugged him closer. Harry started, before grinning and rearranging himself much closer, practically sprawling against Tom's side. Better, where he should be. Tom smirked, turning to bury his face in Harry's hair, which actually looked no messier than ever, oddly enough. One arm encircled Harry's shoulders, pinning him.

He wasn't being…cuddly, just he couldn't trust Harry not to suddenly remember something supposedly vital and try to leave…or something. Harry settled closer, sighing, his own arm moving to Tom's waist, fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

Right. He could at least try and make his excuses to himself plausible.

...Maybe Harry wasn't the only one with mawkish desires after sex.

"Think I'm going to take a nap." Harry murmured sleepily.

"Go ahead, darling. I'll still be here when you wake up." He was definitely more mushy than normal. Although a nap didn't sound too bad…

Harry hummed, already half asleep. And more than a little clingy.

Tom decided he was fine with that.

* * *

"Are you a vampire or something, Tom?" Harry said feeling the tender marks on his neck. "There must be at least half a dozen on my neck alone."

Tom only scoffed.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart, I'm practically a walking bruise, you left so many bites. I thought I was the sadist out of us."

Harry grinned over at Tom, who was currently buttoning his shirt.

"Well, you reacted so prettily whenever I bit you I could barely resist."

"You do know purple is not my natural skin tone?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Tom paused to shoot him a glare, which Harry read as "Yes please, but I'll never admit how much I like being marked by you aloud without some serious coercion," and decided try as soon as they weren't about to be late for a desperately important charity dance event at which they'd drum up financial and political support for their party in the run-up to elections.

Tom's fetish for being marked had apparently been a surprise to both of them, and Tom had yet to develop any real defence against it, something Harry had taken full advantage of the second time round, biting, sucking and scratching his way to dominance. Tom had been equal parts annoyed and aroused by the strategy, following almost every moan with a glare. Especially after he'd used a sticking charm on Tom's hands so he couldn't move them from the headboard.

At one point he'd actually broken down in laughter, unable to keep a straight face when Tom had hissed "Harry, you've dallied long enough with preparation, just fuck me already," and immediately been cut off by a moan. Having enough material to tease Tom into the next century wasn't bad either.

""Oh Harry, just there, yes, like that. Please!"" It wasn't a bad mimicry, if he did say so himself. Tom only glowered for a second.

"Excuse me, but who was it that screamed my name? Both times?" Harry's turn to glare.

"Who was so turned on by being bitten he could barely move?"

"Who stopped fighting to top as soon as I gave his dick a lick?"

"Bite fetish."

"Incorrect. I have a Harry fetish."

"…what?"

Tom adjusted his tie one last time, before pulling on his robe and fastening it. Harry turned to do the same, a quick glance at the clock confirming that time had not slowed down or stopped, and they really had to leave within the next two minutes. So he was surprised to feel Tom's hands on his shoulders, holding him still.

"Fetish; a form of sexual desire in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, item of clothing, part of the body, etc. You don't think I would have noticed if I had a bite fetish long ago? My experiments were thorough."

Harry ignored the brief twinge in his stomach at the mention of Tom's other lovers, however long ago. Tom was his now, he reminded himself.

Tom leaned forwards, his breath tickling the hairs near Harry's ear. One arm slid around his chest, holding him still. He rolled his eyes. As if he was trying to move away.

"So, it follows, doesn't it? If it isn't the action of biting," and here Tom chose to demonstrate on Harry's earlobe. "Then it must be the person doing the biting. Hence, Harry fetish."

Harry swallowed, turning in Tom's arms. This really wasn't the time.

"That was almost sentimental, Tom."

The kiss, when it happened, was slower than normal but no less searing. And when Tom flicked his tongue along the roof of Harry's mouth, he was quite ready just to forget the whole dance and make good on that promise to turn Tom's skin purple.

Which would require Tom.

Who was currently a few feet away and walking towards the door. He frowned.

"Come on, darling, we're about to be late. Don't just stand there panting." Tom smirked, trailing his eyes up and down Harry's figure. "Do you need a moment to fix your robes?" he questioned innocently.

"Tom, you bastard tease! Get out!"

Tom only laughed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

In the end they did make it on time, if only because Tom had adjusted the clocks to be five minutes ahead without telling him.

Harry sighed, mentally psyching himself up for the rest of the evening. It was going to be one of those events he hated, all small talk and manoeuvring and being highly polite. He'd have to be talking all evening, making nice with people who personally disgusted him, all power hungry politicians and the like. Not that they were any better, him and Tom. But Harry knew he wouldn't be anywhere near this dance if Tom wasn't so ambitious. Minister by thirty? Try twenty five. By thirty Tom would probably be leader of the European Wizards Contingent and well on the way to world domination. And Harry would be by his side, if only to protect the poor unsuspecting public.

And that was ignoring the fact that this was a dance. As in, he'd actually have to dance.

He glared at Tom for good measure. In a few seconds they'd be in front of the press, it would be his last chance for hours.

Cameras flashed, and he was grinning alongside Tom. The Boy Who Lived and the Slytherin Prince, leaders of a new movement. Now confirmed as a couple.

They turned, as if they'd rehearsed, shared a kiss. Barely a peck, but the cameras went wild.

As they entered the ballroom, the press still snapping photos, looking out over the sea of predatory faces, Harry felt himself groan inwardly behind his mask of congeniality.

Tom leaned over to murmur in his ear, still smiling at the crowd.

"First to reach fifty sponsors tops when we get home."

Harry's eyes widened, jerking to Tom who only smirked back.

"Political or monetary?"

Tom only raised an eyebrow, giving him an 'are you being purposely thick?' look. So, both then.

Harry glowered, sticking out his hand.

"Deal." He agreed. They shook, before turning to the room at large.

Fifty sponsors? He was the Boy Who Lived.

Piece of cake.


	2. Mesmerising Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fiction takes place over the same time as Logical Considerations, 5 Ways to Lose a Girl, and Exclusive Exceptions, but from Hermione's point of view.

Hermione sighed, glancing towards her best friend. Harry had that distant look again, the one he got whenever he was thinking of his latest girlfriend, and she just knew he hadn't heard a word she just said. Of course, if she called him out on it, he'd repeat it all right down the the intonation, but he hadn't really heard. Leaving his ears on autopilot was a skill he'd developed after years dealing with Tom Riddle. It really was the only way to get anything done in his presence and be ready whenever he pulled his latest trick. Hermione wished more than once that she knew how to do it, if only to weather Ron's talks on the Chudley Cannons.

Really, though, Harry worked quick. Jessica had dumped him not a week ago, and he was already on the rebound. She'd expected a bit more brooding, actually.

She wondered who the new girl was. More importantly, how long she'd last.

It seemed to her that every girl Harry dated was simply a placeholder, whether Harry knew it or not. As if Harry had picked up some guide on "How to be normal" and was following another step. Yes, he did genuinely like most of the girls he'd dated, but he seemed completely resigned to breaking up, as if it was to only be expected, and while he did sulk a bit and complain about how he'd never end up with anyone, it never seemed to really bother him. Hermione suspected it was to do with Tom.

Oh yes, they had always claimed to be platonic, ever since they first appeared at Hogwarts together – honestly they probably were completely platonic, the fact that Tom allowed Harry to date proved that – but you couldn't see them for more than about a minute together without realising exactly how the rumours started.

It was like they'd never heard of personal space! Tom would grab Harry's wrist nearly every time he was close enough, stalking after him in some cases, even pushing him against walls! Sure, Harry would struggle a bit, but he'd make no move to actually leave. And then they'd talk. Faces inches away from each other, and they would just talk, not even noticing how close they were, except maybe as a calculation for the success of headbutting the other.

It was all very intense. Mesmerising, really.

And that was only their public personas.

So much of their relationship was out of the public eye. They'd storm out in a rage, and later return grinning, or more often one would return grinning while the other sulked (she had no idea how Harry could tell at a glance if Tom was sulking, he was very stoic when he wasn't actively manipulating those around him). Or Harry would show up with a mysterious bruise, Tom wincing with each step, and both would deny its existence. Or Tom would do something particularly altruistic for no apparent reason.

They only ever saw the results, echoes of what had happened.

Who knew what they got up to alone? Maybe they were completely platonic, like they claimed. How would they know any different, here on the outside?

She shook her head, focusing again.

"Well, that's all from the Department for Regulation and Care of Magical Creatures." She finished up. Harry nodded, snapping back to full attention.

"I'll make sure to go over this with Tom. I can't believe some of the archaic laws they still have in place!"

"It's an absolute outrage they were allowed to go through!" Hermione responded fiercely. She sighed a moment later. "At least you two are doing something about in now."

Harry gave her a sharp smile.

"Hermione, between Tom and me, the entire wizarding world is going to get overhauled. Tom won't allow anything less than perfection." His smile turned rueful. "And with me here, they'll get at least some protection from his perfectionism."

Hermione only shook her head, changing the subject.

"You're still coming to dinner tonight?"

It had become somewhat of a tradition to share dinner on Sunday nights at their house. Harry came almost every week, except whenever there was a crisis of some sort, and tried to bring Tom over as well, if only because Tom hated attending. It wasn't obvious, exactly, until you looked to Harry and the malicious glee in his eyes whenever he glanced at Tom. The same glee visible in his grin now.

"Yep. And so's Tom."

Hmm. Tom must have objected to the new girlfriend.

* * *

But surprisingly, Harry didn't mention anyone new. Tom and Harry continued to insult each other, sounding more like flirting than ever. Of course, with them it always sounded like flirting, if only because of the intensity of their gaze whenever they spoke together.

The weird part was that Tom didn't really seem annoyed.

Oh, there were complaints, the martyr-complex jabs, the way he completely ignored Ron's presence, the usual. But that was all it was, the usual. No mention of new girls, no glowering at Harry across the table, in fact they both seemed almost…smug, the way they got after besting a mutual enemy.

And now, a week later, and there was still no mention of a new girl Harry had met, or a great date he'd just got back from. Of course, he had just broken things off with Jessica two weeks ago, but still! Harry was _never_ this cheery after a breakup.

"Okay, Granger, what is it?"

She blinked, looking up to where Zevi Prince sat across from her.

"Zevi, I told you, you can call me Hermione."

He grinned, giving an easy shrug despite the crowded lunch room.

"Why break tradition? I see Weasley is running late again. All these years and I would have thought he'd learnt to do his paperwork when it turned up, not at the last minute."

"All these years, and you still refuse to use my last name. Should I be offended?"

"A mark of respect, my lady, not offence."

Hermione raised a sceptical brow at that. Zevi only grinned once more, before starting on his lunch. Hermione rolled her eyes, and joined him.

Zevi was one of Toms' more pleasant followers. Not as snobbish as Abraxas Malfoy, nor as grating as Alphard Black, and the only one of the 1940 Slytherins who actively cared for Harry's wellbeing. He had been caught between loyalties more than once, with Tom's relentless pursuit of success and Harry's tendency to put others first. It was a position she did not envy him one bit, but she was glad he was there.

Ron still hadn't arrived ten minutes later as she finished her lunch. And the whole time Zevi watched her with that slightly questioning tilt of the head, reminding her she had not actually answered his question.

She gave a sigh.

"You've noticed Harry?"

"Harry, Harry. This would be my friend of nearly ten years and current boss? That Harry?"

"Zevi…"

"Can't say I ever noticed him, no-"

"Zevi! Please!" Hermione huffed in frustration, seeing the amusement in his face. "You know what I mean!"

He chuckled.

"I assume you're referring to his abnormally good post-breakup mood?"

"Of course I am! You can't say it isn't a little weird?"

"It is odd, isn't it. I'd have been expecting an announcement about a new girlfriend if it wasn't for Tom's good mood."

Hermione snorted, shaking her head.

"I honestly don't know what to expect. It can't be that Harry's met a girl Tom approves of!"

Zevi's eyes widened comically.

"Certainly not! Tom's opinion of women in general is that they're a bunch of giggling twits, and that's being kind. You're one of the few he actually sees as a capable person."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment, or be insulted on behalf of my gender."

"Take the compliment and run, Granger, for the hills if you can."

Hermione rolled her eyed as Zevi grinned. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

"I wonder," Hermione began, tracing a pattern in the woodwork with one finger. "If it isn't a girl Tom approves of for Harry to date, maybe it's a boy."

"Ah. The old "He must be gay" argument. I suppose it has some merit. If Harry wanted for companionship, Tom would much prefer for it to be with someone he thinks is worthy Harry's attention."

"Still no clue who though. I had hoped you might know some possibilities."

"It's a narrow list. In fact I think the only one Tom thinks of as worth Harry's time is…" Zevi trailed off, gazing at the far wall, before his face split into a grin. "I have it, Granger! I know who harry's dating!"

"What? Who?"

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm not telling."

"Zevi!"

"I can't believe…well the clues are all there, of course. If you can't work it out, you'll have to wait for them to announce it." With that, Zevi stood, grinning madly. "I am sorry to say our ways must part, my lady, else I shall be late."

"Don't you dare leave without telling me!"

"Goodbye, Granger. Good luck!"

"Zevi!"

* * *

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Hermione?" Ron cowered beneath her glare for a second. "Who?"

She gaped for a second, thrown off her rant.

"Who! Who do you think! Harry, of course!"

Now Ron just looked confused.

"Why would you kill Harry?"

"Because he didn't tell us! We're his best friends, and he didn't tell us!" She pouted for a second. "Zevi's right. The clues were right there."

"What clues?"

Hermione could only shake her head in disbelief at her utterly obtuse husband.

"Seriously? Have you not read a newspaper? It's everywhere!"

"If this is about the Ministry Ball, you know I don't read that tripe. What could he do that's so horrible?"

"Harry and Tom are dating."

Ron blinked for a few seconds.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean, "That's it?"! They're dating each other!"

Ron nodded.

"Yes, I know. That's not exactly new, though, is it?"

"How long have you known? Did he tell you?"

"No, he just – well, it's obvious, isn't it? I mean, if even I can see it?"

Hermione only shook her head, anger lost somewhere in the bemusement of Ron being aware of others. He did have a point, she supposed. Hadn't she been speculating on the fact that Harry was completely in denial only the other day? And he hadn't seemed terribly upset when he broke up with Jessica.

And of course there was their last dinner together. She hadn't noticed, since they were always flirting and glaring at each other, but in retrospect, hadn't the flirting been a little more intense than usual? And Tom hadn't even seemed particularly annoyed at being forced to dinner. And Harry had been blushing.

"How could I be so oblivious, Ron? It was right there in front of us, and I missed it!"

"You really didn't know?"

"No! Apparently I can't tell the difference between Harry dating a new girl and Harry in love with Tom!" Hermione felt the beginnings of frustrated tears, biting her lip.

Ron looked a bit green at the idea of Tom and Harry in love, but he stood up, making his way over. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Ron smoothed a wrinkle out of the hem of her blouse. Even with such a simple action, Hermione felt herself begin to calm again. Ron smiled at her.

"You're a good friend, Hermione. You pay attention to others and try to make things better for them. It's just sometimes you overlook the simplest explanation."

She nodded, leaning forwards into a hug.

"How did you work it out?" Hermione asked, looking up at him. Ron scratched the back of his head, blushing a little. Privately, she thought that made him look sweetly bashful.

"It's kind of corny, but – just – it's like-" Ron stumbled over the words, trying to express himself clearly. His blush grew. "For Harry, it was always Riddle, you know? Like, no one else was every really important or significant except Riddle, and Riddle thinks the same about Harry. As if they're soul mates, or something. I knew they'd started dating each other because they looked like they weren't divided anymore."

Hermione blinked.

"That's very poetic, Ron."

Ron blushed even more.

* * *

It didn't take long to get used to them dating. In fact, as far as the public was concerned, there was more support for finally revealing the truth of their relationship than outrage. One of the perks of being accused of dating each other for seven years previous, she supposed. As Ron said, it wasn't really news.

Once she got over her annoyance at being left out of the loop, it was even funny.

As much as they'd teased each other in the past, she'd have thought Harry would be fine with all the innuendos and euphemism they used to communicate. Apparently not.

Harry was fine normally, retorting to endearments with insults, and twisting insinuations back towards their castor, and then while quite innocently discussing some political manoeuvre, out of the blue Harry would begin to blush and stutter. Tom would just smirk back. Seemingly innocent actions would cause Harry to clam up or even run from the room. Hermione and Zevi had decided to make a game out of trying to decipher just what was making Harry crack. It often had them both in giggles and blushes, although the best moments were when Tom would glance over at them, one eyebrow raised questioningly. It made Hermione feel like a misbehaving schoolgirl.

The real surprise was Tom. It appeared that whatever power he had over Harry now as his boyfriend, Harry had the same over him. Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen Tom so distracted, even catching a vacant glaze to his eyes before he visibly pulled himself together again, frustrated.

It was absolutely adorable!

She and Zevi had a theory, actually. Tom was waiting for Harry to be ready to push for anything. It was easy to see that while Harry was constantly flustered, it was Tom who was frustrated. They both watched each other, but Harry mostly looked pleased at the attention, watching Tom watch him. And despite it all, Tom was still waiting. It was very sweet.

Zevi had expanded the theory. According to him, it was obvious Harry had always had the power in their relationship. It was Tom who followed, Tom who tried to tone down his more vicious aspects, Tom who had to compromise. Harry was just too moral to bend much, and while Tom often used that to his advantage, it was Harry who placed limits on Tom's behaviour. Tom had to follow them, or risk Harry turning away from him. By comparison, Tom's demands of Harry – that he care for himself, and not aim for Light ideals – were very mild. It did make sense, she supposed, considering Tom's more flexible morality, that he be the one to compromise, but as far as she was aware neither of them realised Harry had that much power. They were too close to see it.

It was an interesting aside, nonetheless.

About a week ago, though, their dynamic had shifted.

Teasing and flirting had a new seductiveness underlying it, and it was no longer so one-sided. They both seemed more comfortable, more fluid around each other. Smirks and glances seemed to have a whole new meaning. Personally, she was certain they'd had sex, not that she wanted to think about it. They both just radiated lust nowadays. She blushed just being in the same room as the pair. Thinking back, Hermione knew they must have been telling the truth about being platonic, because the tension now could not compare! It was as if they were having sex with their eyes alone.

And all of that was without the influence of their magical auras. If there was one thing she could do without, please, it was having to feel the magic of two randy wizards intertwine during a meeting on the economy. Although Harry had been rather adorably embarrassed when she'd told them. Apparently he hadn't realised just how strongly he was projecting his newly awakened feelings for his life partner. And they were life partners. She was certain neither of them would ever date another, wouldn't allow each other to. They were both too possessive.

After that meeting, Hermione had established with Harry that she would meet up alone, with either him or Tom, so that both of them could focus in peace. Today the meeting would include both Zevi and Ron, to report on the recent opinions in law enforcement and agriculture, with her own report on creature prejudice in the workplace. It was all necessary knowledge for the construction of new policies, the ones that Tom would be presenting as he ran for Minister. However, Harry had gone home around midday for some reason or another, according to his assistant and Tom in a meeting for most of the afternoon with an official of some sort.

Which is how she found herself in Harry's living room with Zevi and Ron.

"Harry?"

There was no answer. She glanced to Zevi, who gave a shrug.

"I know he's not at the Ministry, and he's not out on official business that I'm aware of."

She nodded, walking further into the living room. She'd just make a brief check of the apartment to see if he was napping before searching elsewhere.

A noise from the kitchen caught her attention.

The door was ajar, she noticed. Stepping forwards, she pushed it open, drawing breath to speak. A breath she promptly held as the scene within the kitchen registered in her mind.

Tom and Harry were kissing.

Although kissing probably wasn't the right term.

She felt a fierce blush cross her face.

Kissing wasn't quite that aggressive, and didn't cover Harry on his back on the counter, shirt undone. With Tom half-sprawled across him. Or Tom missing his shirt completely. It didn't include quite so much frotting either. Or that low and altogether too loud moan.

She must have made some kind of noise though, because Tom's eyes flicked towards her in a rather possessive glare as he bit at Harry's neck. Harry's eyes fluttered open at the sensation, mouth gaping as he panted, and promptly catching sight of her in the doorway.

Harry froze.

"H-Herm-mione,"

"Um…" She couldn't move. Couldn't draw her eyes from the spectacle before her. Could do nothing as Tom smirked, and continued to trail biting kisses down Harry's neck and onto his chest.

Harry's eyes widened, face flushed in mortification as he tried half-heartedly to push Tom away. Without much success, she observed, as Harry shuddered very obviously with pleasure.

She squeaked, pulling the door shut and steeping away.

"I'll come back later," she called, furiously trying to control her blush.

"Do so." That was definitely Tom's voice, as well as what sounded like a stifled moan from Harry.

Oh god, far too much information. She really didn't want to know what Harry looked like during sex, he was her best friend, for heaven's sake!

Even if they had looked a little hot together like that.

She quickly walked back to the fireplace.

"Doesn't Harry want to know?" Ron asked, seemingly oblivious to the activities in the next room. Zevi, face slightly green, simply stepped into the floo and rushed away.

"Not right now, he's busy."

Ron opened his mouth again, but Hermione just shoved him towards the floo.

"Tom, you bastard–" The muffled insult was cut off by a moan, much louder this time. Ron looked alarmed now.

"Riddle's here? Are they fighting again? Is Harry hurt?" Hermione bit her lip to stop from laughing hysterically.

"I can confirm for you, Harry was not moaning in pain."

Ron blinked, before he seemed to catch on, blushing so much his freckles disappeared.

"Right, what are we waiting here for?"

Hermione did laugh then, as her husband practically dragged her through the floo.

* * *

Back in the kitchen, Harry slumped back at the sound of the floo. Tom smirked at him, hands already working on their respective belt buckles.

"Told you. You have a streak for exhibitionism."

He rolled his eyes, tugging Tom closer. Alright, so maybe he had been a little turned on (who was he kidding, a lot turned on) when he realised someone had been watching, and they'd already had sex once in the Ministry Atrium under wards that anyone could have broken through, had they aimed the right spell, and that had been super hot, and there was that time in the Tate Modern, and that time against the tree in that muggle park under disillusionment, and god, had they really first slept together only a week ago?

What point was he making again?

"Shut up, Tom."

Always a good response.

Oh, wait, yeah. Poor Hermione, getting an eyeful. He'd have to apologise.

Later.

 


	3. Acrid Adoration

"I thought you had better taste than _Witch Weekly,_ Tom."

Tom didn't spare Harry a glance, focused on the article. Of course he had already read it, but this one was important enough to demand a reread.

"There's an article about us. As a couple,"

"Another one? I thought they'd be used to the fact by now. I mean, it's been months…"

"Indeed. This one seems to have taken the angle that we secretly hate each other and are only dating for political popularity."

Harry frowned. Reaching over, he tugged the magazine out of Tom's hands to look over it himself.

"Well, no wonder. It's Tisha Delassy again."

Tom smirked.

Harry skimmed the article briefly, disdain clear on his face.

"They're not serious, are they? Like, love or loathe?"

"Trite, isn't it?"

"We should sue for libel…" Harry trailed off as he read further. Tom, watching him, smirked. The same thought had crossed his mind. Of course with this article that wasn't all that crossed his mind.

"And this part! ' _Perfect couple they may seem to be, but look a little deeper and you can see the unrivaled hate they struggle to hide_.' God, people are actually going to believe this aren't they?"

"It is controversial."

Harry snorted, meeting his eyes for a moment before continuing reading.

Like, love or loathe.

Those were terms too simple to describe what existed between him and Harry, too ordinary. Too dull.

Love: a) a strong feeling of affection; b) a great interest and pleasure in something; c) a person or thing one loves.

Loathe: a) to feel intense dislike or disgust for; b) to hate.

Honestly, Tom didn't really like to use either.

He had likes and dislikes, and the thing that made them different was the intensity he felt them. Most didn't make it much past apathy, a fleeting engagement or puzzle.

In fact, the only things he felt sufficiently passionate about to label either love or hate were to do with Harry.

There was a great deal he liked about Harry. Really, it wasn't just anyone he'd stalk through time, and they'd only known each other a year at the time. They had only gotten closer since.

Tom liked that Harry played the game. Harry fought against him every day, challenged him to prove his supremacy, and what's more, Harry could keep up with him.

He liked that Harry was his moral compass, his conscience. It balanced out his own amorality, acted as a buffer between the public and him. He didn't actually care about the welfare of those under him, as anything other than _his_ people. An attack on them constituted an attack on him, but they were less than pawns. Harry was like a reminder of the importance of popularity over fear, and his very presence made it possible. Harry dealt with the complaints he had no interest in and no patience for, making him aware of their woes and how to get past them. While Tom was the vision, the power, the progress, Harry was the heart, the compassion. Tom knew he would have been successful without him, but together, they were formidable.

Tom loved Harry. Felt strongly affectionate towards him, took a great interest and pleasure in interacting with him. And past the dictionary description, he felt possessive of Harry, protective, obsessive. Attracted. Considering. Occasionally even kind.

He loved the way Harry's mind worked. A typical Gryffindor with the realism of a Slytherin would be easy to comprehend, but Harry took a mirror image of that concept and twisted it on its head. He could be subtle, but his motivations were simple. He could manipulate using earnestness. Harry was one of the most honest people he knew, and a brilliant dissembler simultaneously. All of this dissonance wrapped up in a lovely compassionate pragmatism, Harry's mind made Tom's teeth ache to taste and rend to pieces so he could examine and assemble it once more.

He loved how Harry was every bit as possessive and obsessive about him as he was towards Harry. It definitely kept things interesting, more interesting than a constant hunt would have been. Tom hadn't noticed it at first, how much of himself he had been giving to the hunt, the obsession, the puzzle that was Harry. By the time he had noticed, he was far too invested to back away until he'd solved Harry, only for Harry to change and he'd need to restart. What was odd was how little he minded giving pieces of himself to Harry. Even then, he'd known Harry would guard them jealously, as he still did.

He loved that they were equals. That for every action of his, Harry reacted. Through either instinct or design, Harry could match him, did match him, for power and skill. Tom even worked to sculpt Harry to be more perfect, more equal with himself, counter-intuitive as it was to empower the only individual who might be able to cross him and win.

He loved that Harry was his horcrux, the guardian of his soul. Harry, who cared more for others than himself, who so unthinkingly gave of himself to others, for others. Harry, whose own Horcrux resided within Tom's own soul, where he could safeguard it from their enemies. There was no one in the world he would rather share a soul with, the constant stream of thought and emotion between them that could be stifled, but never broken.

He loved that they were lovers, the feeling of being in such control over Harry. His prickly rival, his hunting partner, the only one who could see Tom unfiltered without flinching. Harry, his equal, who he could torture with pleasure until Harry fell into incomprehensible moaning. Playing the body of his lover as Harry fought to do the same to him was a challenge he knew would entertain him for decades.

Of course there were some things he'd never admit he loved. Out loud or internally, at least not often.

Like the fact that Tom loved it when Harry topped and had won control. Preferred it, even, being pinned or bound and at the other's mercy. Loved losing himself to pleasure and Harry, being surrounded by Harry, consumed by him until he couldn't think, couldn't plan, couldn't do more than react until there was nothing left but pleasure and Harry. He was pretty sure Harry knew how much it turned him on. That annoyed him.

Yes. Overall, love was a good word for his feelings towards Harry. An overly sentimental, simple one, but a move in the right direction.

And that's where articles like the one by Tisha Delassy were naïve, idiotic, and far too one-dimensional. It did nothing to convey the complexities that existed between him and Harry, the competitiveness, the obsession, the solidarity, the subtleties. And yes, the love, and the hate.

Like the assumption that loving Harry excluded the possibility of hating him. Because he hated Harry too.

He hated Harry's idealism. That Harry could go through everything he had – growing up in that abusive muggle environment, constantly under threat from Voldemort and frequently betrayed by his fellows in favour of whatever nonsense the Prophet was publishing – and still believe the best of whoever he met was befuddling. He'd given almost as many second chances as Dumbledore! Not that a traitor or an enemy couldn't prove useful. But Harry didn't use any caution.

It was actually the reason they were together now, that lack of caution. Which really proved his own point about Harry's dangerous compassion for his enemies. During those first two years, there had been a very real danger of Tom destroying Harry. More than once he'd had the opportunity and the motive, only to hold back out of his own fascination that someone thought he could be "redeemed". Luckily, at some point Harry had become his.

Tom hated the fact that Harry was his equal, even as he revelled in it. Even after all these years. The fact that Harry could, with barely an effort, keep up with him, match him blow for blow despite his superior intelligence and ability, was infuriating. Book-dumb Harry, either by chance or fate, his perfect rival. His equal. Why in the name of Magic itself would Tom even need an equal? He was brilliant, powerful, ambitious and ruthless, yet Fate would see him limited by his fascination with another human, his own twisted reflection. Bound to Harry, to greatness when he could reach godliness. A sea anchor, preventing him from drifting off-course into foreign waters of glory and bloodshed, but instead keeping him sane and safe. Sometimes Tom wished he didn't need Harry.

He hated the fact that if he had to give his life for Harry's he'd seriously consider it. It was wrong! He was self-aware enough to know he valued other lives as unimportant, and didn't care that he did so. They were nothing but chess pieces, toys. He barely felt compassion. He knew how easy it was to sacrifice one for another, or for a desirable result. Other people just didn't register as anywhere near as important as himself and his entertainment. As he'd once explained to Harry, that didn't mean others couldn't rank highly, just less than himself. It was disconcerting that Harry had risen so much in importance as to be the same rank as him. Again, equals.

It wasn't because of the horcrux. There was no question he'd let his horcrux be destroyed if the alternative was his own life. Their point was to preserve his own life. It was Harry himself, all his morality and irrationality and fire. Tom had the feeling the game would no longer be interesting without him, and the prospect of eternity without him was unappealing, to say the least.

Tom hated that. Hated how somehow Harry's wellbeing and existence at his side had become intrinsically linked to his own happiness. Ridiculously co-dependant. Of course it was mollifying that Harry felt the same way, the same intensity. Tom had managed to insinuate himself into Harry's life that far at least.

Never one without the other. Harry and Tom. Love edged with hate. Hate softened by love. Not counterparts but two words for the same thing. Passion. Intensity. Significance. In all ways the opposite of apathy.

Harry looked up, placing the article on the table. Tom arched a playful brow.

"So, do you love me or hate me, sweetheart?"

* * *

Harry grinned at Tom. Easy question.

"You're my most hated rival, love."

Tom smirked back at him. It was true, after all.

There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't both love and hate the bastard. Even some of the things he hated Tom for the most were tempered by the sugar coating, Tom's random acts of kindness towards him. And some of his most considerate actions were lined by cruelty.

Like the time Tom broke his shin in order to force him to the Hospital Wing to cure Harry of a recurring migraine. And his method of teaching defence by attacking at his strongest and informing Harry of the book containing the spell that could have prevented him losing a foot. He'd learnt quickly to read ahead.

It was odd to think of when they were younger, when Voldemort was still so important to their fates. The fear that blackened his first four years at Hogwarts, knowing that a murderer was after him and all he loved, while he was nearly helpless and almost alone. The creeping pleasure of knowing, during fifth year, that Tom liked him enough, enjoyed his company enough to follow him through time. The joy in knowing that such a drastic action was just for him, to see _Harry_ , not the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One or Prongslet, just Harry. The comfort of knowing that there was someone else, someone who wanted him to succeed and who was willing to help shoulder the weight of prophecy no matter how tightly Harry tried to keep it to himself.

Harry wasn't sure if Tom knew just how much those acts endeared him to Harry, how glad he was of Tom's forced, continual presence in his life. Harry couldn't help but reciprocate, feed back that same fierce obsession and devotion into their bond. It was satisfying at some base level, had been even before they started dating, to know that this one person would never leave you alone with a burden, would never let you settle into mediocrity. Frustrating, aggravating, at times unsettling, but undeniably there. Honestly, despite their fighting, it hadn't taken long for Harry to love Tom's presence in his life, whether as a tutor, rival or his best friend.

Harry looked back down at the article. It had a rather splendid picture of the both of them, dressed up for a charity luncheon a few months ago. Tom was resplendent in rich green robes, embroidered with gold thread and bearing the Slytherin crest, and making Harry beside him look quite washed out and weedy by comparison. Even in the photo the affection between them was obvious, in their every movement and with every shared glance. It made him wonder why this photo was chosen for an article so clearly trying to make them appear hostile towards each other.

He sniggered, looking at the high collar on photo-Tom's robes. It had been a last minute modification, made to cover the very large bruise Harry had sucked there only hours earlier and spelled unconcealable while Tom was blissed out. Oh, that had been a very good week.

The thing was, when it got down to it, the core of their beings were nearly identical. Both intelligent, both leaders, both proactive, both hopelessly obsessed with each other.

Both thrived during conflict.

It was what drove them closer, time and again whenever they fought. It was what drove them to fight, to struggle, to compromise with each other. Kept them sharp.

Harry loved Tom as much as he hated him.

Every day and never.

It was practically their catchphrase.


	4. Pragmatic proposals.

 

Really, Tom didn’t know how it got out of hand. It just wasn’t like him to forget something like this, or lose track.

He’d been considering the idea maybe a month beforehand, and set in motion the appropriate actions. After all, they had been seeing each other for over three years now, and their relationship had only gotten stronger. His own observations from the couples around them showed three years to be the cut-off point, make it or break it. It wasn’t like he was ever going to let Harry leave.

It should have been a brilliant idea. Harry loved being romanced, especially when none of the consequences intruded into the rest of their life, and Tom loved manipulation. And after three years, there was only one clear direction to head in.

He’d bought a ring.

Another case of logic failing when near Harry. What sort of psychopath was he, considering marrying for anything other than societal convenience? That did factor in, of course, but surprisingly low on the list of reasons, below keeping Harry happy and keeping Harry his. Permanently. Indisputably. As it should be already, just from observing them, but he had always believed in guarantees. Particularly in the face of more ignorant and plainly stupid women who thought they could turn Harry straight. And it did look good for the country’s leaders to be happily settled.

He hadn’t meant for it to end up like this.

In fact, he had had a nice dinner planned only the evening before – high class, private room, the perfect setting – only for it to fall through when negotiations with the Theotokus contingent had overrun. They’d been working late into the night and into early morning, and eventually retired, exhausted.

Completely forgetting one particular action he’d put into motion.

Tom froze when the newspaper landed on the table between them. It was just as well Harry was not at his best in the morning, especially after late nights and didn’t notice. Which gave Tom enough time to move, swiping the newspaper towards him and quickly opening it, hiding that dreaded front page.

Harry squinted blearily from over his coffee at the sudden movement.

“Interesting article?”

“Yes, actually. About the stock prices for Gringotts. There’s been a sudden drop-”

“Oh god, never mind. Remind me when I’m actually awake.”

Tom breathed an internal sigh of relief.

Harry Potter, the only being sharp enough to keep up with him, his only equal. After drinking morning coffee.

But really, hiding the paper was only a temporary solution at best, and wouldn’t work very long at all actually. An impulse born of panic. One he was sure he’d have to apologise for, as soon as Harry found out.

Well.

No need to make it easy for him.

Actually, considering their public image, there wasn’t much Harry could do to object anyway. In public. This should be…interesting.

On the front of the Daily Prophet in large letters were those dreaded words.

**_Potter and Riddle Engaged!!!_ **

Unfortunately, he had yet to propose.

* * *

 

Harry nodded uneasily at the fourth congratulations he’d received since entering the Ministry this morning. It was really starting to worry him a little. Something big must have happened, and he had no clue what. He needed to find a newspaper.

That was another odd thing, and something he was entirely certain was due to Tom.

Not once, anywhere within the Ministry, had he seen a newspaper. As if they’d been disappeared. Not even on office worker’s desks or in the lift, or in his favourite coffee room. Definitely Tom’s handiwork, especially considering how strange he’d been acting that morning. Practically grabbing at the paper, and just as quickly deflecting his enquiry.

He shook his head, focusing on Zevi and Hermione.

Who both gave him wide grins, Hermione greeting him with a hug and another congratulations, Zevi echoing a second later.

Wow. It must have been good news for Zevi to hug him, who usually settled for the slightly more impersonal handshake, with respect to Tom.

Good news Tom had decided to keep him ignorant of.

Internally he growled. They were meant to be partners, but of course Tom didn’t think anything wrong with leaving him out of the loop. Probably wanted to see how long it took him to work it out, the bastard.

Hermione was babbling excitedly, still in her role as friend rather than professional.

“Slow down, Hermione. I can barely keep up.” He grinned, amused as she blushed.

“Sorry, it’s just – It’s so exciting! After all this time!”

He kept up the smile, though he thought he felt it crack a little.

“Uh huh. All those-” what was the right time period? “-years.”

She nodded enthusiastically, as Zevi rolled his eyes, wandering back to the stack of paperwork on his desk.

“It has always been obvious they’d end up together.” End up together? This was getting ominous. Just what was Tom hiding? “You only have to spend a few minutes in their presence to know that.”

There was a little thought, niggling at the back of his brain. Not quite a suspicion yet, but waiting for support.

“Have you decided on a date yet? Oh, of course not! It’s still so recent, you’re probably not planning anything yet.”

A date? The niggling thought grew stronger, twisted. It couldn’t be…

“I’ll support you throughout the whole thing! Ron and I had to go through the whole kerfuffle ourselves a few years ago, and you saw how stressful that was.”

No…

“Excuse me, Hermione. I really need to go talk with Tom for a moment, iron out some details, you know?”

“Of course! Don’t listen to me, rambling on here…”

“Thanks,” he gave a smile, truer this time. She really was a great friend.

He quickly left the room, making a beeline for the Minister’s office he shared with Tom.

“Consulting Minister, congratulations.” He nodded to the security guard by the door.

“Thank you Andrews.”

Harry made his way inside.

The only one in the office was Tom, already bent over some new piece of paperwork despite the clock on the wall announcing it to only be 08:23 AM. Diligent was one word. Harry preferred overzealous.

He glanced up as Harry entered, giving a brief smile in greeting, turning back to his work before pausing. The second glance was more thorough. Harry ignored him, activating the silencing and privacy wards surrounding their office. An addition of Tom’s, and strong enough to mask all but Unforgivables from the Ministry’s wards.

Tom’s gaze sharpened, approving. Harry kept his own mannerisms casual.

“So, Tom. You couldn’t possibly have thought you could hide the fact that we’re now apparently engaged from me. Could you?

* * *

 

Tom smirked.

Less than twenty minutes after they’d arrived. Not bad.

“Of course I didn’t think that, darling. You’re not stupid.”

Harry scowled.

“What makes you think I’d want to marry you?”

“You don’t find dating me objectionable.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard!”

“Your point being?”

“Well, manipulation is hardly the base of a good marriage, or a good relationship.”

“Hasn’t stopped us so far.”

He received a sharp glare for that. Shaking his head as if to toss off a halter, Harry began to pace the room.

“It was in the paper this morning, wasn’t it? That’s why you snatched it.”

Tom only raised one chiding eyebrow, Harry bristling in response. Well, it was rather obvious.

Quite suddenly, Harry spun to face him fully, his face blank.

“What effect are you planning on creating by announcing this?”

Tom stood. Walking around the desk, he stopped in front of Harry. They were closer in height now than when they had first met, a late growth spurt on Harry’s part bringing his eyes level with Tom’s chin. Oh, it had been droll, the way Harry had sulked when he grew no taller. He smirked.

“Why should I divulge them?”

Harry glared, a brief flicker of frustration lighting up their empathic bond. Tom didn’t bother to try and disguise his amusement.

“Because we’re partners. And you owe me.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Yep. That business with the Nazca metamorphmagi tribe? I’m sure you remember the details.”

If nothing else, their association for the past ten years had definitely improved Harry’s drawling. It barely sounded unnatural at all now.

“I suppose I could enlighten you.”

“Please do.”

And now Harry looked completely unaffected, not the blank from before, relaxed. Tom took the opportunity to inspect the grain of his wand, tracing a small flaw with his eyes. It would need mending soon. A shame, dealing with Ollivander had always gotten on his nerves. Not that Tom couldn’t fix it himself, he had both the ability and the resources. However, Ollivander was faster. Tom hated being without his primary wand for very long, and the rituals to imbue a wand with phoenix oil took hours to complete, and nearly as long again afterwards to “let the oil settle”.

Using magic through an unsettled wand had completely unpredictable consequences, except that whatever spell you were intending wouldn’t work out right (he knew this from experience. That was far more kittens than a levitation charm should ever be able to produce). Somehow, Ollivander had managed to work around the time limit, and produce working, settled wands within an hour of handing them in. Probably something to do with his masses of wandlore knowledge.

That was a good project for later, actually, decoding the imbuing ritual. He’d been so busy lately with work, it would be nice to have something relaxing to work on – a hand grabbed his jaw, turning it to face Harry.

Tom smirked. Seven minutes until Harry lost his temper. His patience for being ignored was much shorter than normal.

The glare he received was positively glacial, before Harry flicked an eyelash to concede the victory. Tom’s smirk widened. Harry snorted, before rolling his eyes, stepping back.

“Fine, you made me react, whoop-de-doo. You already knew you could do that. Now answer my question, they won’t leave us alone in here all day.”

Tom pouted.

“You’re no fun today.”

“You’re hiding something from me. Spill.”

Tom sighed in a put-upon fashion. Harry only crossed his arms, glaring some more.

“Oh, alright. If you _really_ want to know. The effects I’ll create by announcing our engagement? Political stability. Amusing the public. Distracting attention from the Buckthorn affair. Marrying you.”

Harry was nodding slightly at each point, until the last. He visibly started, staring.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I really do think it will draw attention from Buckthorn. We’re both much more famous than he is, even with the notoriety of having killed seven mistresses.”

“That’s not what I meant, you bloody prick!” Harry growled.

“You should have been more specific, darling.”

Tom felt a tingle of satisfaction when he realized Harry was audibly grinding his teeth. The emotion link was now humming between them, filled with frustration and anger. Tom could sense his own excitement rising in response. He so loved baiting Harry.

“The part where you said you were marrying me,” he ground out.

“Oh? I thought it was obvious, since we’re engaged.”

“No! We’re not! The newspapers are just saying that because you told them to!” Harry snarled, pressing forwards until there were barely inches between them. His eyes were shining with anger, and Tom could feel sparks of Harry’s magic darting across his skin, sending jolts of heat straight to his groin. It was absolutely delicious, Harry’s rage, especially at this short range. More than once since they had started dating they’d end up fucking mid-argument, insults and retorts still flying the whole time.

He leaned forward, intent on snogging Harry breathless until he was completely wanton, and then pushing him up against the desk. Or maybe bearing him down to the ground and ravishing him.

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to guess his next move, stepping away with a sneer and drawing his magic back into his skin. Tom pouted. Harry only rolled his eyes, stalking towards the fireplace. A second later, Harry turned back to him, visibly much calmer. Their link indicated he was not.

Tom decided to speak.

“Marriage truly isn’t that different from dating, Harry. More permanent maybe.”

“I know that!”

“So what’s really bothering you?”

“You didn’t even propose!”

Harry froze, eyes wide.

Tom grinned, leaning forwards to slip a hand along Harry’s jaw. Harry only glared in response.

“I can remedy that.”

* * *

 

Harry felt his mouth dry out when Tom sank onto one knee.

“Tom, what are you doing?”

“Harry…”

He swallowed, eyes wide. His heart felt like it was racing.

And Tom wasn’t even smirking, he looked completely serious! This wasn’t…

“We’ve known each other since we were fifteen. You awakened me to the concerns of the path I was on,” Of course Tom would consider becoming Voldemort a mere concern! “And inspired me to a higher level of ability. I am not as strong without you by my side.”

Harry couldn’t look away. Tom’s eyes were so sincere. He had to be joking!

“Harry, you are my equal through fate and my partner by choice. The only one I’d ever consider.”

There was a ring! A fucking ring! Like Tom had planned this…wait, dinner last night! Had he been planning to…?

“Will you marry me?”

Oh god, those words! Was this serious? Did Tom seriously want to marry him?

He felt frozen.

What should he do? What answer? He felt like hyperventilating, and god, wasn’t the one proposing meant to be the nervous one? What had he been expecting barging in?

“I…”

This was Tom, for crying out loud! Sentimentality and Tom Riddle were practically antonyms. Proposing?

Some Gryffindor part of him was singing out, screaming _“Yes! Of course, I love you, you bloody bastard!”_ and demanding he swoop down and kiss the serious expression off Tom’s face. He’d never considered ever dating someone else once he and Tom had gotten together, never thought they’d break apart. Never really thought much beyond the next plan, as far as Tom was concerned. The future was big, terrifying, and the only thing he’d been certain of had been that Tom would be there, and the games would continue.

Actually thinking about it, Harry was near freaking out. That part of him that wasn’t singing was cowering, grabbing desperately at anchors hoping to slow things down or get off the ride. Marry Tom? Be permanently bound to him? Not like they weren’t already, but that was still very sudden. Logically, this was the next step, but since when did logic apply to them?

Merlin, he had no clue what to do.

Say yes? Preserve their public synchronicity? Say no? Risk Tom’s moodiness and plotting? In a way this was much bigger than them, Harry and Tom, the couple or Harry and Tom, best friends. This involved Harry and Tom, twin Ministers and political partners, and all their public appearance and power. The announcement was already out, after all. In another way it was much more private. Marriage! When isolated from their politics, removing all their games and plots and strategies, this was simply Harry and Tom, and all they could be to each other. No one else mattered. Nothing else was important.

Harry blinked.

Was it really that simple? Everything else faded into a haze when he was near Tom. Harry knew he valued his friends and loved them, but it was never as important as whatever he was doing with Tom. It should be, he tried to make it, but it wasn’t. Looking back on the past three years dating Tom Harry realised he’d barely even noticed if someone was flirting with him or fancied him, and only then to manipulate them. He really took no notice of anyone else near Tom. Suddenly the answer seemed obvious.

Saying yes would be giving up a freedom he suddenly realised he had no use for, and didn’t want anyway. Besides which, they _were_ already bound in far more invasive and permanent ways than simple marriage.

Of course, Tom had screwed up as far as that newspaper went…

He reached forwards, swiping the ring from Tom’s fingers with a smirk and examining it.

“I’ll think about it.”

* * *

 

Tom glared at Harry’s back as he turned to his desk, releasing the privacy wards around their office. Almost immediately there was knocking at the door, and memos flying in. He stood, moving back to his own desk. As Minister and Consulting Minister there was a near constant demand for their time and attention, especially in these first few months after the elections. Even a few minutes had been enough to create a backlog.

Harry could have said yes.

Tom had been able to track Harry’s thought patterns even through his much improved mask, the confusion and disbelief, the panic and excitement, the calm as he decided on a plan. He’d seen in Harry’s eyes the moment he decided on saying yes. And then that bit about ‘thinking about it’. He’d hoped his spontaneous proposal might have flustered Harry enough to forget the origin of this particular argument, gotten him focused on them as a couple instead of as rivals. Harry couldn’t very well complain then, having accepted the proposal and thus, Tom’s actions in notifying the newspapers too early.

Of course, Harry, being Harry, caught on to his distraction and turned it about, _delaying._

Still, as he looked over and approved the new plans, amended some documents and in general worked through too much paperwork, he couldn’t help but feel a little pleased Harry had caught on so quickly. Rarely did anyone he influenced catch on to the manipulation behind the distraction, even fewer could hold their own. Honestly he’d have been disappointed had Harry capitulated so quickly. Harry was in a class of his own.

* * *

 

Harry spent most of the day authorising several new treaties with the goblins and meeting up with Bloodclaw, their representative. They’d been arguing for years about getting a fairer cut from Gringotts’ customers, the current policy requiring only a small annual fee to keep open accounts. Bloodclaw, new head of the bank, wanted to take a percentage instead of a set fee, which many of the more traditional families were objecting to. It had taken weeks to work out a solution acceptable to both parties.

Lunch he’d spent with Hermione and Ron, who’d wandered over from a slow day among the Aurors. Harry, after casting every curse, hex and charm detection spell he could think of, was now wearing the engagement ring, a simple thing of twisting silver in the shape of a snake (of course!) with glinting red and green gems for eyes. Around them, most of the other ministry workers were glancing over and whispering, and a gaggle of witches were giving the ring envious looks before giggling to each other. Harry mostly ignored them, focusing on his friends, chatting about his lack of wedding plans and hinting about some details he couldn’t share in such a public setting.

Ron and Hermione had only exchanged a glance, before inviting him alone for dinner the next night. He’d smiled, glad to be able to rant to someone about the truth of his engagement. Tom really was in a whole other class of infuriating.

It was when he had gotten home that things truly began to sink in.

He was engaged. Tom was his fiancé. They would be getting married.

Some little ball of elation seemed to build inside of him, pressing at his lungs and filling his veins with effervescence. He couldn’t help but grin as he made a cup of tea, wondering idly how Tom would take his penalty for keeping Harry out of the loop. He’d come up with a brilliant idea that afternoon. Something about working with goblins intensified your every ruthless thought.

Tom had been in a sour mood for the rest of the day, casually charming then subtly insulting any worker who wasn’t part of Harry’s protected circle. It was like he was trying to work his power over as many individuals as possible, now that Harry had some leverage over him, never mind that Tom was already Minister for Magic. But seriously, what kind of person announced they were engaged in the newspaper before proposing! Harry felt completely justified in not answering immediately.

Wandering back to the living room, he was just in time to hear the floo chime. A second later, Tom stepped through, graceful as ever, casually banishing the soot that clung to his robes. Harry hid a smile by taking a sip of tea. Even after years of knowing him, he still felt lucky that it was him Tom chose to show all the facets of his personality to, the full intensity he had to filter for everyone else. Harry loved the way Tom would actually relax when he was in a safe place, and that he had been chosen to share that safe place.

Thinking about it, there had never been any real danger of him saying no.

Tom ignored him as he walked past, presumably to fix his own cup of tea. Harry grinned, sitting on his favourite chair. Tom’s voice sounded from the kitchen.

“Thought about it yet?”

Harry hummed, taking another sip of tea.

“I’ve thoroughly considered the proposed alliance.”

He stretched the silence, laughing internally as it became increasingly frosty on Tom’s side. Well, Tom started it back in the office, he could hardly complain now about a bit of harmless payback.

God, sometimes he could see why Hermione said they were hopelessly co-dependant. Neither of them could stand even a few minutes of being ignored by the other before becoming bellicose. Really, dating (and now marriage) was the best option. It wasn’t like anyone else could get an elbow in.

Tom stalked back into the living room, his own cup of tea balanced carefully in one hand, a plate with a small slice of cake in the other. He sat, projecting an image of endless patience and grace. The perfect, prim, proper pureblood. It was an image that had deceived many people, much to their detriment. Harry, perfectly able to feel the roiling impatience and frustration, could barely hold onto his expression of polite disinterest. Only the strongest emotion could get across their empathic link without consent.

It was actually one of their best kept secrets, that link. Only those few who knew Harry had been able to feel Voldemort’s emotions, and knew of the connection between Tom and Voldemort even suspected it could exist, and it had only gotten stronger after the creation of their Horcruxes. Harry frowned, turning his thoughts away from that particular Dark magic. It only made him angry, and he was in such a good mood. It would be a shame to spoil it.

The silence continued, Tom eating his cake, Harry drinking his tea. It was only when they’d both finished, and Tom’s impatience was creating static in the air that he chose to speak.

“Right. I’ll agree to marry you on three conditions.”

Tom was alert in an instant, regarding him with cold eyes. Harry smirked. He was so going to pay for this when Tom next won, but it was just so fun to tease him.

* * *

 

Tom ignored the part of him that wanted to leap forwards, pin Harry to the wall and torture him until he spoke. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it would be pleasurable torture or the more sadistic kind. Of course, Harry was the only one for whom pleasurable torture was an option but that was beside the point. The point was, Harry had made him wait the entire day without answering. He wasn’t sure whether to applaud or tear him to pieces.

“Yes?”

“The first. You will donate ten thousand galleons towards my charity for orphans and muggleborns, and a further five thousand to S.P.E.W. This shall be done completely anonymously, and there will be no way anyone can link these donations to your name. These donations will not be a way to boost your popularity, or improve your image in the eyes of the public.”

“Agreed.” It was exactly the kind of condition he would expect from Harry, actually, something altruistic and simultaneously self-weakening. Fifteen thousand wasn’t a small sum of money, but his personal coffers wouldn’t suffer the loss too badly. And Harry’s co-operation was worth it.

Harry smiled, almost as if he could hear that last thought.

“Good. Second, forty eight non-consecutive hours in which I have complete control during sex.”

Tom felt his eyes narrow.

“Ten hours,” he countered. Harry snorted.

“Forty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty four.”

“Deal.”

The shiver across his skin at the idea of Harry in control for twenty four hours went unremarked. Harry was what could be called a generous lover, and had nearly perfected the techniques of sensation play and forced orgasm. When he was in full control, he had kept Tom on the edge for literal hours in the past. The salacious smirk Harry gave him told him he hadn’t hidden that shiver as well as he’d thought.

“Third, you’ll owe me one favour.”

“One favour,”

Harry nodded. “Unspecified at this time.”

Tom thought it over for a second. There were worse conditions Harry could set.

“Deal.”

Harry grinned, Banishing the teacups and plates to the kitchen.

“Great!”

Tom was rather glad for his excellent reflexes when Harry pounced.

* * *

 

Harry launched himself into Tom from the other chair, using the moment of shock to gain the advantage. Although Tom did catch up quickly, hands sliding around his shoulders and into his hair.

And then they were kissing.

God, he was kissing Tom! _His fiancé!_ They were _getting married!_ He could barely stop himself from giggling in happiness, so felt it was better just to kiss Tom. Very deeply. Repeatedly. And maybe grind into his lap a little bit. He felt giddy, and aroused, and so god-damned happy he couldn’t even explain.

He had to share this. He felt like he was overflowing! So much, he was spinning, burning up in flames of jubilance. He had to share this.

Tom had to know!

Pulling back he grinned, catching Tom’s eye, before focusing on lowering the barriers on their bond and letting everything he was feeling just radiate out. All the joy, the delight, the happiness and the lust. All the love.

Tom gasped, pupils dilating. He brushed a hand against his cheek, staring like Harry was some wondrous thing, before pulling him back in, kissing fiercely. Harry groaned, pressing closer.

Yes, this was so much better! Bare skin! Tom or spontaneous magic, it didn’t matter, because now he could feel it! The entirety of their bare chests pressed together, and Harry was groaning again, because when had Tom’s hands gotten _there?_

Merlin, but it was like drowning. Everything swirling together, and he could barely breathe.

They were horizontal, all of a sudden.

* * *

 

Tom looked down at Harry stretched across the sofa below him, his flushed cheeks, his shining eyes.

He felt Harry’s delight all around him, brushing his skin with warm whispers.

Absolutely enchanting.

He felt high. His head was spinning, but he couldn’t look away, could barely blink.

Harry. His Harry.

_His_ fiancé!

Harry would be _his_ husband!

Leaning down, he caught Harry’s mouth in an agonisingly slow kiss, despite the energy – and Harry – urging him to move faster. They had the rest of their lifetimes for faster. He wanted to savour this moment, this feeling.

And then Harry began hissing filthy things in parseltongue, and he couldn’t stay slow.

* * *

They had made it to a bed at some point, apparently. At least they were in one now. Honestly, Tom couldn’t remember very many of the specific details of the past two hours, besides skin and sweat and Harry moaning. Sex was always more intense when they fully opened the mental link, since their emotions had a tendency to refract and magnify between them until they formed some maelstrom of desire and arousal and pleasure. It was still humming gently now, whispers of affection slipping between them like caresses. Tom sighed happily, content to just bask in the warmth and afterglow. Harry was pressed up against his side, sweaty and sticky in a way he knew would irritate him in an hour or so, but for now it was perfect.

“We’re engaged.”

“Fuck. I thought that was crazy-hot everyday sex, not crazy-hot engagement sex.”

Tom snorted before he could stop himself, turning so his nose brushed Harry’s cheek. He smelt like sweat, and Tom, and sex. Tom thought it suited him.

“Mmhmm. You must not have been paying attention at the start.”

Harry chuckled breathlessly, turning to face him. A hand brushed against Tom’s cheek.

“My fiancé,”

Tom crooked one eyebrow at Harry.

“Honestly, we get engaged and you start acting like some mawkish lovestruck teen? Really?”

Harry snorted, shifting to yank a piece of his fringe. Tom hissed in an exaggerated manner.

“Don’t try to act like you’re not delighted I said yes.”

“Darling, I would have eviscerated you had you said no.”

“Such a sweet talker.” Harry shifted closer so they were kissing again.

A few minutes later they had separated, faces flushed and panting. Harry began to grin.

“Hey, since I wasn’t paying attention, we’ll have to do it again. Otherwise the engagement doesn’t count.”

Tom nodded in reply, shifting so he was leaning over Harry’s head.

“You’re right, of course. As soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible, you say?”

“Yes, it’s inauspicious not to.”

Harry gave a fake-solemn nod.

“That is true, that is true.”

“So, crazy-hot engagement sex?”

“Let’s try for salacious, smutty engagement sex.”

“Salacious and smutty it is,” Tom murmured, licking at Harry’s lips.

Rumours flew the next day, when _both_ Ministers came in with coffee, sunshade charms, limps and identical smirks. Harry told Hermione he was feeling particularly auspicious. Hermione thought it was prudent not to ask further.


	5. Violent Vocations

 

Harry didn’t know how they had gotten so far into the ministry. Really, at the moment that wasn’t important.

He dodged a particularly nasty looking hex, rolling into the motion and sending a curse of his own back. The intruder ducked, leaping sideways to avoid the silent curse Harry had sent concealed by the other. Harry swore inwardly. Fate _would_ send him an assassin that knew how to duel, wouldn’t it.

It was a risk of being high profile, really. In the early days of their campaign, he and Tom would get up to four assassination attempts a month, which was an odd contrast to their overwhelming popularity. Tom pointed out that, historically, many popular figures were the victims of assassination, particularly from political rivals or those who felt they had been scorned or abandoned. As war heroes, new party leaders and with Tom being Tom they had plenty of potential assassins. Most were caught early on, and if not were easily dispatched by their far superior skill in duelling. It was rare to find one who matched.

Moving quickly, Harry sent a series of spells, bouncing some off the walls and carpet. The duellist fumbled, tripping as he tried to escape. Still, he managed to avoid the web of spells, but caught the edge of a rictumsempra which sent him into hysterical laughter. Grinning, Harry sent a stunner, conjuring rope to bind the intruder. He’d be tried, and probably imprisoned. Azkaban was less intimidating without the Dementors, but it still wasn’t an easy punishment.

A sound at the door had him spinning, still in battle reflexes, but it was only wall plaster falling to the floor where it had been damaged by spellwork. Turning back, he wondered idly where Tom was, and if he had an assassin after him too. Of course, Tom could look after himself, but the idea was slightly worrying.

The spell caught him across the neck.

Harry gasped, his left hand coming up to stem the arterial spurt of blood even as he shot spells at his suddenly enervated enemy. Said enemy laughed.

“I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be strong enough to kill me!” It was a woman’s voice, and now she threw back her hood, revealing messy blonde hair and dark eyes which currently possessed a glint of madness. Harry had never seen her before. She grinned. “It is I, Lindsey Phillips! Your greatest adversary!”

He blinked, before sending another curse her way. She easily avoided it, and began to prattle on about his chances of defeating her.

Harry’s head had started spinning, and he stumbled. A tripping jinx sent him over, and suddenly he was staring at the ceiling, gasping for breath. He tried to sit up, roll to the side, anything! – but already he was feeling too weak. His muscles wouldn’t respond.

The intruder wandered closer, still babbling on about her own strength and skill.

“…as if a simple stunning charm could keep me, Lindsey Phillips, unconscious! See, I predicted that you…”

God, she was irritating. Who actually monologued, like some movie villain?

_No!_ He needed to stop the blood flow. That was most important, heal the injury, prevent further blood loss. His left hand was still clamped over the slash to his neck. What was the spell? Oh god, he needed that spell, the one that healed cuts! He could barely think.

_Stop panicking._ The voice sounded calm, serene, oddly like Tom’s. _Struggling will only kill you faster._ Wasn’t that what Hermione had said, years ago, about Devil’s Snare? Why would Tom say that?

Harry realised the woman was standing directly above him now, wand at her side. She was smiling down at him, not talking now, just watching as he bled out. She hadn’t noticed he still had his wand, or that it was pointed at her.

Ignoring his own pain, his dizziness, his fatigue, he concentrated solely on the spell, on the effect he needed. The incantation drifted through his mind.

She didn’t even notice the moment it took effect, simply wavering on her feet, falling backwards as she fell unconscious. He grinned. The spell was far from common, one Hermione had developed that mimicked the effects of the Draught of Living Death.

He blinked. Why was everything so hazy? Had he lost his glasses or something?

He felt cold.

* * *

 

Tom hated being worried.

Not twenty minutes beforehand he had dispatched an assassin sent after him. This wouldn’t normally worry him, except that today was the first time in a while that he had spent the day nowhere near Harry, and at some point someone had gotten the idea that they were weak whenever they were apart. Which wasn’t true in the slightest. By power level alone, they both outstripped the majority of the wizarding public as well as most of its Auror forces, and their individual skill level propelled them much further in terms of duelling. It was clear that both he and Harry were among the strongest wizards in the past four generations, including the likes of Dumbledore, Grindelwald and his alternate self.

They _were_ the strongest among their contemporaries, there was no doubt about that.

And still the perception that they were weak when apart persisted, as if their massive power, both magical and political relied solely on the supporting presence of the other. Of course, he conceded, without the other they were a little weaker than when they were together, but that was like saying one nundu was less deadly than two. Being together simply added to an already lethal power.

Had he been in private, he might have growled in frustration. It should be lethal power, if Harry was ever able to work past his moral hang-ups. He had far too much faith in the justice system as a punishment for criminals and enemies for Tom’s liking. Harry was perfectly capable of defending himself, even had the instinct which told him to strike at the weak points, but that there was the issue. Harry only used his skills to defend himself and others, not offensively.

Tom knew logically, of course, that he preferred Harry this way to the amoral shell he had been for a few utterly exhaustive days in their youth, but that didn’t mean Harry didn’t often take it too far the other direction. Completely obliterating the opponent to a bloody mulch _was_ use of excessive force while defending, but simply giving an opponent a wound that might possibly kill them if they continued to attack was not.

Tom half hoped his intuition had failed him and an assassin hadn’t been sent after Harry. He might have decided that the assassin looked uncomfortable and could do with a cup of tea or something equally ridiculous.

Bloody Gryffindors. His life had been so straightforward before Harry. In an unscrupulous, Machiavellian kind of way.

A sudden surge in emotion from Harry (panic, fear, dizziness, nausea, anxiety, isolation) had him hurrying forwards.

The guards on duty nodded as he entered the office, obviously having heard nothing unusual. Stepping into the room, he froze.

There was an assassin, as he predicted. She lay unconscious, or dead, it didn’t matter, because there was Harry.

His throat was slit.

Tom surged forwards, throwing a binding at the assassin, kneeling at Harry’s side. Merlin, there was so much blood, how long had he been bleeding? Harry was still conscious, blinking up at him and gasping for breath. Harry’s hand was pressed weakly against his own throat, obviously trying to prevent further blood loss. Removing Harry’s hand, he pressed his wand to the wound, the healing chant already falling from his lips.

“Vulnera Sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur. Is it your aim to give me a heart attack, hero?” The wound had immediately begun to heal, stitching up into a rough pink scar. Harry was still in danger though. There was a lot of blood soaking into the carpet. Summoning Zevi through his mark, he grabbed a paperweight, enchanting it into a portkey. A few extra words improved the stability of travel and the smoothness of the landing.

Harry gave a weak chuckle.

“Tom…”

“Shut up, Harry. You just had a massive amount of trauma to the throat. Talking is not going to help healing.”

“…love you, Tom.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Completing the portkey he placed it in Harry’s hand. It would lead directly to his bed. Gently he brushed Harry’s fringe back out of his eyes. Harry smiled sleepily up at him, leaning into his hand.

“And now you’re speaking nonsense. Be still, Harry.”

Harry frowned, and tried to shake his head, before wincing in pain.

“Idiot.”

Ignoring the assassin, he stood, making his way to the door. Opening it, he quietly informed the guards that they were not to be disturbed for any reason for the rest of the day, before activating the wards on the office. And added a few new ones in parseltongue to be sure. She would find escape very difficult from here. This particular assassination attempt would never reach the public eye.

But Harry was his first priority. Always was. Revenge could wait.

Returning to Harry’s side, he activated the portkey.

Harry groaned as they landed, him in the bed and Tom standing beside him. Quickly Tom summoned a blood replenisher and a nutrient potion, infinitely glad that they’d never gotten out of the habit of duelling each other. Glancing over him, Tom checked for any other wounds, pressing a hand to Harry’s chest above his heart. His heartbeat was worryingly faint, somewhat erratic. He was displaying signs of moderate shock, cold hands, clammy skin, shivering, breathing shallow and fast. Where was Zevi already?

“M’head hurts…”

“Harry, really. If you must talk, at least use parseltongue. It puts much less pressure on your throat.”

Harry only blinked in response. Opening the blood replenisher he lifted Harry’s head, holding the potion to his mouth. Harry, infuriatingly, clamped his mouth shut, a wave of panic coming over the link.

“ ** _Harry! This is no moment to doubt my intentions! Open your mouth!_** ”

For some reason, that worked, Harry relaxing again in his arms.

“ ** _Sorry…_** ”

“ ** _Just drink!”_** Harry opened his mouth, gulping the potion as Tom poured, gagging once or twice.

A sudden ringing against the wards had him curbing his automatically hostile reaction as he recognised Zevi’s magical signature. Instead, he relaxed the wards, sending another pulse of urgency along the mark.

“My lord!” A voice in the living room called.

“Here.”

Zevi burst into the room, taking in the situation, Harry pale and shivering on the bed, Tom besides him, in a glance. He stepped forwards.

“Major blood loss, his throat was slit. I’ve healed the wound, given him a blood replenisher.”

Zevi nodded, casting a diagnostic spell, and then another, as well as a modified bubble head charm. Harry tensed, shifting minutely closer to Tom. If he wasn’t so badly injured, it would be amusing. He ran his hand back through Harry’s hair.

“ ** _It’s only Zevi.”_**

**_“Ohh…Tom? I…don’t feel so good,”_ **

**_“Just relax, Harry, I’ll sort it.”_** Harry panted for a moment in the oxygen-rich bubble, eyes half closed and unfocused. A spell began to bleep in time with Harry’s heartbeats, tracing an odd pattern of hills and valleys in red light.

“Tom,” His eyes flicked to Zevi. “He’s lost over two litres, a potion isn’t enough. Won’t work fast enough. It’s putting too much strain on his heart to take up the slack.”

Tom’s gaze sharpened, but Zevi didn’t flinch. “What does he need?”

“Blood. A transfusion,” Zevi hesitated. “I know the spell, I can–”

“Use mine.” He held out his wrist.

“It’s not that simple, the blood needs to be compatible–”

Tom snarled, glaring viciously at the other.

“I know how transfusions work, Zevi! We’re compatible! Use mine!” He hissed. Zevi winced.

“Sorry, my Lord, of course,” He cast another diagnostic, this time aimed at Tom, followed by a cutting spell. Tom didn’t flinch, looking down at Harry once more. He looked worse now, paler, his lips nearly white and skin clammy. Tom’s face was blank.

Quickly, Zevi made a similar incision in Harry’s wrist, beginning to chant. The spell was unfamiliar to Tom, and he made a note to examine it and other blood related spells when this disaster was over. Because he could be certain, knowing Harry, that he’d need them at some point. He really had to practice healing more often.

**_“Tom? What’s…”_ **

**_“Hush, Harry. I’m fixing you.”_ **

**_“Oh. Okay.”_ **

Blood siphoned from his arm, bright red and flowing down into the cut on Harry’s arm. Tom followed the trail with his eyes, letting himself relax as much as he could. Harry was so close to healed now, the assassin captured, the wound sealed. Giving his blood was no sacrifice. Not for Harry’s sake.

It was slightly amusing now, to think about how much importance he’d once placed on blood, even if it was in the interests of manipulating those around him. Being pure didn’t matter, and was no more magical than muddy blood. It all spilt the same way.

Harry’s blood was important. It felt right somehow, that his blood was going to fill the void that Harry’s should. His blood would be rushing through Harry’s veins, being pumped by his heart. Within him, synthesised into his body. Just another binding between them.

Harry was beginning to look healthier, pinker. His heartbeat was slower, stronger, as well as his breathing.

“ ** _I’m fine now, Tom. You can stop_**.” Tom stared at Harry, who squirmed uncomfortably on the bed.

“Zevi, how much blood did Harry lose?”

“2320 millilitres or so.”

“And how much is he presently short?”

“1580 millilitres.

**_“Tom…”_ **

“So, Harry really needs another 550 or so to fall within a safe range, correct?”

“Preferably a bit more, but my Lord, you’ve already given nearly 750 millilitres.”

“I can give more.”

“What? Stop!” Harry flailed, trying to pull away. “No, I won’t let you injure yourself to help me.”

He grinned down at Harry with a false brightness. Harry stilled, probably from the wand at his temple as much as the grin.

“Harry, this really isn’t a case of you _letting_ me do anything.”

“Tom!”

“Stupefy.”

Harry slumped where he lay.

“Continue.”

Zevi looked uncomfortable, but he complied, spelling more blood back into Harry’s veins. He was really an exemplar servant. After thirty more seconds or so, he stopped.

“My Lord, I can’t take anymore.” He flinched as Tom’s eyes bored into his. “To continue would mean putting you in a worse state of blood loss than Harry. You’ve given as much as you physically can.”

Tom stared, watching Zevi begin to squirm beneath his gaze. Silence stretched, interrupted only by Harry’s breathing and the beep of the heart monitor spell.

“Fine.” He turned back to Harry’s sleeping form, ignoring Zevi’s barely audible sigh of relief. Sensing the dismissal, Zevi turned to the doorway, pausing a moment.

“Shall I come back to check on him later, my Lord?”

Tom shook his head, bracing against a sudden wave of dizziness.

“No. Although I will need more blood replenishers.”

“My lord.” Zevi gave a short bow, striding out of the room.

“Oh, and Zevi?” Zevi paused at the threshold, turning back to him. “Use my floo to check in at the Ministry. A poorly assassin is trapped in my office. It would be a shame if she injured herself in her boredom.”

Zevi’s eyes were fairly glittering with ice as he left. An exemplar servant. Viciously protective of Harry, too.

Drinking the second blood replenisher, Tom circled the bed to climb onto the other side. Harry was his first priority, and they were both a little low on blood now. Absently, Tom wondered if between the three of them, Zevi, Abraxas and Alphard, the assassin would be in any fit state to regret fighting Harry by the time he awoke. It would certainly be a shame if she was completely incoherent.

Harry was more important.

Drawing the curtains with a flick of his wand, he settled in to take a nap.

* * *

 

It was amazing, Zevi reflected, just how often Harry was seriously injured. Yes, a good majority of those injuries were caused by Tom, but they were unintended for the most part, and Harry rarely got the same injury twice.

Even so, this was the closest Harry had been to death since Voldemort’s demise. That was probably why Tom had forgotten to guard himself.

It was a rare event indeed, to see such naked concern in his Lord’s eyes. Rarer still, to witness him act in pure altruism. Tom had deliberately weakened himself for Harry’s sake, had wanted to go further despite what logic told him was enough. All for Harry’s sake.

Tom, who would ruin a marriage for fun in his spare time. Tom, who had once created a blood feud between two pureblooded families to amuse himself. Tom Riddle, who without Harry’s influence would have gone on to literally start a genocide against muggleborns and muggles, dragging the wizarding world into a new dark age.

Zevi smiled. Their bond truly was legendary in strength.

At the Floo, Zevi paused only to contact Alphard and Abraxas and call them through before heading to Toms’ office.

* * *

 

The first thing Harry was aware of was that he was in a bed. Also, he was naked.

A hand caressed the flesh of his thigh, while lips pressed against the opposite hip.

“About time, hero.” Tom?

“Um,” His voice came out in a rasp, grating against his throat, which felt somewhat bruised. His eyes were gummy, but forcing them open, he realised they were in Tom’s bed. The light was the gold of late afternoon, filtering through the window. And Tom was being weirdly affectionate.

God. Something terrible must have happened.

“What happened?”

Tom paused in his ministrations, before lifting himself up. He stared.

“You don’t remember?”

Harry blinked, scanning his memory. They’d been at the Ministry, Tom had left for some reason and he’d been left with the paperwork. Harry glowered for a second as he remembered. Tom, apparently following his train of thought, smirked back. It had been quiet for a while and then he’d been attacked-

“An assassin. Again, really?”

Tom didn’t look like laughing.

“Do you have any idea how close you were to dying?” Tom traced a finger across his bare chest, pausing to press his hand above his heart.

“Um, not really, no.”

“But you do recognise a wound to the carotid artery can be, and is often fatal?”

Harry glowered up at him.

“I know that! It was an accident, pure chance-”

“You lost thirty-eight percent of your total blood volume.”

Harry trailed off, suddenly feeling cold.

“What?”

Tom tilted his head to the side, expression blank. His finger traced higher, along Harry’s sternum to brush over his neck and the sensitive scar tissue.

“Episkey. Consanio. Coalesco percur. Cruor langsam. All appropriate healing spells I know you can cast, both nonverbally and in parseltongue.”

“Tom, I…”

“Yet, when I entered the room, you were still bleeding out.”

“I was confused, I couldn’t remember-”

“So you let yourself die-”

“I’m not suicidal!” He broke off to cough for a moment, Tom watching impassively. As the coughing stopped, Tom placed his wand against Harry’s lips, and suddenly there was a stream of water in his mouth. He drank, grateful for the relief to his aching throat.

It was weird, sometimes, how gentle Tom could be even as he verbally shredded you. Then again, it was weird that Tom would be concerned for the welfare of another in the first place, so Harry supposed that kind of tender evisceration was his lot in life for being the love of a psychopath.

Tom’s eyes were still blank, staring. Harry gazed back, nodding his thanks for the water. Tom blinked.

“Regardless of your reasoning, you didn’t heal yourself of a quickly fatal injury. From the blood spurts around the office, I’m assuming you even kept fighting instead.”

Harry flushed, turning his head to the side. An accurate guess, but still it flooded him with shame. He was a Defence Master! How had he let his mind drift like that during a duel, and gone as far as to ignore the injury? He swallowed, suddenly much more aware of the ache in his throat.

Tom leaned forwards to whisper directly into his ear.

“Thirty seconds, hero,” and Harry was disconcerted to hear a waver in Tom’s voice. “Thirty seconds and you would have died.”

Harry stopped breathing, a chill running down his spine. If Tom hadn’t been right there, if he had hesitated or stopped to talk…He could tell the same thoughts were running through Tom’s mind.

“I’m sorry,” he turned to press his cheek against Tom’s. Tom sighed deeply, pressing back, his hand slipping forward to cradle the side of Harry’s neck.

“Why am I even involved with you? This would be so much simpler if you had so much as an iota of self-preservation.”

Harry snorted. “You’re the bloody psychopath who stalked me through time to stave off boredom.”

“Always with the stalking through time. It’s hardly the most unusual thing about us, darling.”

Tom shifted, kissing his cheek, the tip of his nose, his lips. It was slow, and chaste, unhurried. Harry slid a hand up to grip Toms’ bicep, pressing into the kiss. He tried to pour all of it, contrition for scaring Tom, his fear at nearly dying, the joy at his survival into the kiss and through the bond. From the way Tom growled and licked at his mouth, he guessed it worked. Harry relaxed as he literally felt the cold blankness slipping from Tom, brief snatches of emotion flickering across the link. Anger, frustration, worry, relief. Affection. Love.

“Ha. You love me.”

“An unfortunate side-effect of knowing you, sweetheart.”

Tom kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, head spinning.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against Harry’s. His eyes were all Harry could see.

“I’ve invested a lot in you, love. I’m not going to let you leave.”

Harry smiled.

“You’d have an effort to get rid of me, Tom.”

“Or someone with a well-aimed diffindo.”

“If I died, I’d haunt you.”

“Twee, darling. You’re not allowed to die.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by another kiss. After a few seconds he relaxed into it, because it wasn’t like that particular opinion of Tom’s was new or anything. It was somewhere between horrifying and charming to know Tom would start a war to keep him alive.

He really didn’t want to find out which.

* * *

 

“You what!”

“Bound our heartbeats together. Honestly, darling, it’s like you never listen. Besides, it’s a common enough spell amongst Healers, although I admit I adapted it a little...”

“Tom…”

“Don’t worry, darling, it’s nothing serious.”

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. It didn’t really work.

“What does this heart binding do, exactly?”

Tom smiled at him.

“Ensures there won’t be another thirty seconds.”

Harry blinked, frowning.

“So it would prevent my body from dying.”

“So glad to see you using that intelligence I know you possess.”

“Jerk. What else?”

Tom smirked, sprawled out beside him. It was the horrible kind of smirk he got when he had something you desperately needed and was deciding on a price. Harry glared at him, ignoring the twitch of arousal such a smirk drew from him after years of having Tom as a lover.

“Tom. How did you adapt it?”

“Relax, I just strengthened the spell somewhat. Only slightly illegal, and only then because it endangers the Healer.”

“What!?”

“I made it permanent too.”

“Tom! Fucking hell, why?”

“Language”

Harry gritted his teeth. Merlin, this man could be infuriating. What the hell had he been thinking, making a spell like that permanent? The strain alone from that kind of magic could send the caster into a coma, if the recipient was badly enough hurt. Of course, that wasn’t something Tom cared about, not if it saved Harry’s life. Was it wrong for him to feel a little flattered, that Tom would do something so extreme? On the other hand, Tom knew Harry knew some of the theory of emergency aid charms, enough to realise that potentially any injury he received could damage Tom.

“How long have you been planning on tying our heartbeats, Tom?”

Tom’s face contorted into false hurt.

“You don’t like it? I thought it was romantic.”

“Tom,” Harry pushed closer, rolling Tom onto his back. He leaned on one arm above him, encroaching on his space. “You know those spells are illegal for a reason. I bet you know exactly how dangerous that spell is, along with the case studies to prove it. Why would you think this was an intelligent idea?”

Tom stared back, unperturbed. Harry blinked, before snorting.

“It’s so I’m more careful not to get hurt, right?”

“That was a factor, yes.”

“Bastard.”

Harry settled down, resting his head on Tom’s chest. A moment later, Tom’s arms shifted to encircle him. Already, he was beginning to drift again. Who knew losing a heap of blood and nearly dying was so exhausting? Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that he was forgetting something important, something that was still wrong. His last thought was to wonder what had happened to Lindsey Phillips when the Aurors found her.

 


	6. Repellent Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, if you don't regularly, now would be a good time to recheck the tags? I am tagging as each chapter comes out, so they do change as things go.

 

“She’s dead, isn’t she.” There wasn’t a question in Harry’s tone.

Tom looked up from where he sat across the table, keeping his face blank. He didn’t answer.

Harry gave a sigh that sounded like it drew out all of his strength. His head dropped down to stare into his tea.

“This would be one of those times that I would appreciate verbal confirmation, Tom.”

When Tom remained silent, Harry looked up, finding his eyes.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t torture then kill Lindsey Phillips.”

“I killed her.”

Only a few hours ago, actually. The woman had been past delirious by that point, her screams trailed off into wobbly hiccups and groans. Zevi, Alphard and Abraxas had all been visibly uncomfortable by the time Tom thought to grant such a mercy.

Oddly, the act itself had left Tom unsettled. Restless. It wasn’t until he’d returned to Harry’s side, watching Harry breathe slowly and easily – alive and recovering and _his_ – that Tom had calmed. He’d buried his senses in Harry, his scent, his warmth, the way the light picked out his eyelashes and lit up his cheekbones. The taste of his magic, shifting softly through the air. Harry’s heartbeat, strong and constant, was soothing in a way that eliciting agony in an enemy simply wasn’t. Better still when Harry awoke, and began to reciprocate his explorations. Truthfully, it wasn’t long before Tom had nearly forgotten the world beyond Harry. It wasn’t important.

At least he’d managed to get Harry to eat something before he was thinking clearly enough to ask after the assassin.

“She tried to kill you,”

“Phillips was clearly mentally unstable! She needed help!”

“And now she doesn’t.”

“Because you killed her!”

“Harry–”

“Don’t you dare try and justify this! You killed her purely for revenge.”

“Yes, I did.”

Silence fell. Harry stared for a moment before snorting bitterly.

“I can’t believe I–” He broke himself off, shaking his head. “Ten years ago we met, Tom. There were some who’d classify you as mentally unstable. I still do. Should I have killed you for attacking me? For what I knew you had the potential to become?”

“Probably. I would have.”

“I saw you weren’t Voldemort. I gave you a chance.”

“You tried to redeem me. I know, hero. I was there,” Tom’s face was dark as he stepped forwards. “Guess what? You can’t redeem a psychopath. They don’t care.”

Harry snarled, surging forwards.

“I hate it when you use that word!”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

“Because it’s a lie!”

“In what way is that a lie?”

“Merlin, Tom! Psychology has moved on from the forties! No one even uses the term psychopath anymore, and you only use it to excuse any mistakes you make!”

“Psychopathy is a physiological condition–”

“And you are far too strong a person to let physiology govern your actions!”

Tom opened his mouth to reply, but only blinked. Harry grinned in a somewhat manic way.

“You use it to cover your lapses in judgement, or whenever you let your fucking impulses control your actions. I hate that word.”

“You came into this relationship with your eyes open, darling.”

“I did, didn’t I.”

They were staring at each other now, Harry’s features drawn tight. Their combined magics were roiling with agitation, making the air heavy with the taste of metal. Harry gave a shuddering sigh, and suddenly Tom could no longer feel him, his magic and his mind folded neatly behind Harry’s self-control. Tom narrowed his eyes. Harry swallowed, before turning to walk away.

“Why does this bother you so much?”

Harry paused at the doorway, but didn’t answer. Tom supposed he didn’t have to. He already knew.

* * *

 

When Tom woke up, he could tell Harry hadn’t come to bed during the night. The sheets were cold and unrumpled, and the sight of them set something low within him to growling with discontent. Tom ignored it, looking away.

The house was quiet when Tom exited his room. The door to Harry’s bedroom was closed, a rarity since they had begun to sleep together. Both of them preferred Tom’s bed, but with two people as prone to disagreeing as they were, it only made sense to keep their own spaces.

The kitchen was empty, although that wasn’t unusual. Tom tended to wake earlier than Harry. He began to make breakfast, preparing a serving for Harry too. They may have had a disagreement, but only yesterday Harry had nearly died. He needed nutrient-rich food to help recover, along with another blood replenisher to supplement. Left to his own devices, Tom could guarantee Harry would simply grab some toast and try to go in to work. Of course, Tom would have to insist on bedrest for his obstinate lover, rather than further excitement. For today at least. Harry might accept rest for a day, but it was a losing fight to convince him to take time off as it was, a fruitless effort much better invested in finding ways to trap Harry within his own words and promises. Sometimes Tom even spent some effort running the country.

After fifteen minutes, when the scent of strong coffee had begun to suffuse their entire home and Harry had yet to appear, Tom chose to investigate.

The door was locked, but only with a simple charm. Harry wasn’t worried about privacy between the two of them, and besides anything Harry really wanted to keep secret wouldn’t be kept somewhere so obvious. Tom paused in the doorway, surveying the room. Harry’s side-table was a mess, as always, sliding stacks of paper weighed down by over a dozen sneak-o-scopes. For some reason, people liked to gift Harry sneak-o-scopes, something about him being surrounded by untrustworthy slytherins. Most of them weren’t even functional, but Harry liked the way they caught the light so he kept them anyway. The rest of the space was much tidier, although Tom supposed that was because they did most of their work in their shared study rather than their bedrooms.

Harry wasn’t here.

From the look of it, Harry hadn’t slept here either. He’d probably left the night before.

Tom returned to the kitchen, stopping when he spotted Harry’s serving still steaming, his own serving half-eaten.

Perhaps it was childish of him, setting the food on fire and watching the flames consume everything across the table. Childish or not, it was somewhat satisfying.

Tom headed to the floo. It wasn’t unreasonable to head in an hour early. As the leader of the British magical population, there was always something to work on, especially considering all of yesterday’s interruptions.

* * *

 

“Where’s Harry?”

Of course he couldn’t have a quiet day. Zevi shrugged from his position by the door as Weasley stormed forwards in an attempt at intimidation. Behind him stood Granger. The fact that she hadn’t attempted to derail her husband’s bullheadedness was testament to how serious she felt the issue was. Tom’s eyes found Weasley’s once more in time for him to repeat his inquiry.

“Riddle. Where’s Harry? Why won’t he answer the floo?”

Weasley’s voice grated uncomfortably against Tom’s ears. His face remained blank. It was interesting to note, though, that Harry hadn’t retreated to the Weasley house to recover.

“Harry’s ill. I insisted that he take a dreamless sleep potion before I left this morning.” Rolling his shoulder, Tom leaned back in his chair, letting a smirk overtake his face. “Did you think I murdered him, Weasley? Are you here to avenge him?”

Weasley was visibly grinding his teeth. Granger stepped forwards.

“What illness could possibly have kept _Harry_ in bed since yesterday afternoon?”

“Dragonpox. I thought it was best to isolate him.”

“Harry had dragonpox when he was seventeen.”

“There have been cases of repeat infection. This is one of them.”

“Surely, you’d be contagious too.”

“I recognised the symptoms before Harry was able to infect me this time.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Numerous medical charms.”

Granger gave him a hard stare. It was obvious she didn’t believe a word he said. Equally obvious, she didn’t know what to do next. The wards on their home were locked to Harry and Tom’s magical signatures, and couldn’t be disabled without one of them present and aware, so it wasn’t like she could go to check on Harry herself. Harry would probably have wanted him to share the truth about the assassination attempts yesterday. He saw no reason to enlighten her.

Her head tilted to one side, considering.

“It’s your fault, isn’t it. You upset him somehow.” Granger was staring at him with a knowing frown. Tom sneered at her before turning back to his work.

“He’s sulking that I confined him to bed. I’m surprised he hasn’t contacted you yet, actually.”

“He did, this morning. Came by our house, and I have to say he looked remarkably well for someone with dragonpox. He asked me to rearrange his non-urgent appointments and delegate the rest.”

Any other time and Tom would be able to appreciate Granger’s ruse. Judging from Weasley’s face, he hadn’t known that. All the better for a genuine reaction, designed to draw Tom in.

“Why is Harry upset?”

“Hermione. While I appreciate your continued efforts to defend and support Harry across the years, our disagreements are really none of your business. If Harry didn’t feel the need to fully inform you of the details of our discussion, I fail to see why you believe I would.”

“It was a long shot, I admit. Will you at least give me some context? Harry indicated he doesn’t plan on working for at least a week.”

“I am going to deny you again. What Harry chooses to tell you is not my responsibility. I could not care less about whether you stay up to date on all of his actions and choices.”

“How serious was your fight?”

“Go. Away.”

“Riddle!”

“Granger!”

As expected, Granger looked away first. Weasley was glancing back and forth between them, still on edge. Eventually she nodded.

“Fine. You won’t help me, so I’ll find Harry myself and ask him.”

Granger paused by the door.

“Riddle. This is serious to Harry, whatever it is.” She paused, biting her lip in an obvious show of hesitance, before continuing. “You know what he’s usually like when you’re fighting, all fire and self-righteousness? That wasn’t there this time. Harry just seemed quiet, flat almost. I think he’s really hurting.”

Tom’s eyes flicked to Granger, expression blank.

“I’m bewildered by the fact that you are still within my sight.”

She bristled at his sharp tone, drawing herself up.

“You need to make this up to him. You, not him.”

With that, she stormed from the room, followed by Zevi and Weasley. Tom stared after her, before closing the privacy wards around the office tighter.

* * *

 

It was three days later and Harry wasn’t back. This was beginning to border on ridiculous. Tom was certain Harry wasn’t properly looking after himself. He always forgot to eat when he was brooding, and he never particularly cared to follow medical advice.

Three days without contacting anyone.

The house was silent.

With a snarl, he spun on his heel, heading for the fireplace. He had allowed this sulking long enough.

Tom found Harry in Grimmauld Place, of course. It was amazing Granger hadn’t found him, but then again it wasn’t like she would inform him if she had, not after their last conversation.

It was quiet, but Kreacher was busy in the kitchen, muttering to himself about stubborn masters. Tom only rolled his eyes and made his way upstairs.

The building was better kept than it had been during the war. Dust no longer coated every surface, and the smell of mould was absent for the most part. The curtains had been replaced, and subdued tapestries covered most of the walls, and many of the older magical artefacts had been hidden. The cursed ones had been destroyed.

At one point, Harry had been planning on living here, before Tom had talked him out of it. After a year of use as a base for Dumbledore’s militia, too many people knew about the place, many of whom believed Tom was literally Voldemort de-aged and waiting for the perfect moment to murder Harry before restarting his campaign to kill all muggles. It wasn’t exactly what Tom wanted from a secure home.

Harry was sat in the window seat, hugging his legs to his chest, gazing out of the soot-smeared window to the glow of the London lights. Tom approached with silent steps, stopping a few feet away. Harry didn’t acknowledge him for a few minutes, before sighing and turning to face him.

 Harry looked bad. The shadows under his eyes stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. He looked exhausted. But his eyes shone with grim determination.

“Knew you’d be the first to find me.”

“I know you best.”                   

The silence that fell between them wasn’t the usual kind, full now of tension and half-made arguments.

“How did the renegotiations go?”

“They were postponed until next week. Tanook prefers to work with you than me. She agreed to wait until your bout of dragonpox cleared up.”

Harry’s face scrunched.

“Dragonpox?”

“I admit, it’s not the most creative excuse.”

“It’s a terrible excuse.”

“Even so, you have received dozens of flowers and get-well gifts. The public is very concerned for you.”

Harry snorted, turning back to the window.

“My paperwork?”

“Already signed. Granger looked over it to ensure it met your standards.”

“And your standards.”

“And mine.”

Harry stood up, making his way to the table. Tom followed, scanning the papers and files spread across it, all of which seemed to relate to Lindsey Phillips. His eyes caught on the missing persons report, apparently filed only the day before the assassination attempts.

“I grabbed these before I left.”

“Obviously.”

“Jerk.” Riffling through the papers, Harry drew out one that appeared to be an article from some magical theory journal. “I’m assuming you didn’t find any evidence that Phillip’s mind had been tampered with when you legilimised her.”

“Of course not.”

“And, of course you checked for all the rarer mind-altering potions.”

“There was no evidence of it.”

“But you didn’t check for muggle drugs.”

No, he hadn’t.

“You suspect something.”

Harry’s eyes flicked up, capturing Tom’s. His face was blank as he handed the article over.

It was indeed a piece from a magical theory journal, Creature Insights, from the look of it. The article itself was a treatise on the courting habits of yowies, apparently written by Phillips, dated from earlier in the year. Glancing at the table, over a dozen of the papers appeared to be similar articles.

“Phillips was a genius when it came to magical creature behaviour. Some people regarded her as the next Newt Scamander. Notably, she’s well known for never giving a damn about politics. She emigrated to Australia during the seventies, before Voldemort was actually confirmed as a terrorist. This was actually the first time in nearly two decades that she even entered the country, and it was only because an aunt of hers died. She had no basis for an attempted assassination, let alone to declare herself my arch-nemesis.”

“She declared herself your nemesis?”

“Yes. Didn’t I tell you? Oh, yes, you chose to defend my honour by murdering her.”

“Harry.”

“Before even finding out my account of events. You assumed you knew everything of importance, and now someone’s dead.”

“Repeating it won’t bring her back.”

“That is what dead generally means, yes. We may have a new enemy. But I cannot be certain, because the one who attacked me is dead. Whoever sent her was likely aware of your probable response to an attack, and took advantage of your impulsivity.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation overcoming him for a second. He kept his silence. Unfortunately, it all appeared to be true. Tom hadn’t thought to look beyond the superficial, or to compare her past behaviour with the current. It was remarkably unlike him. Harry seemed to notice, something triumphant in his gaze.

“I still have one assassin held unconscious, the one who came after me. We can interrogate him.”

Harry gave a tight smile, dropping the papers back onto the table. He folded his arms across his chest.

“Well, isn’t that lucky. Murdering someone didn’t greatly disadvantage us. Yay.”

“You’re being remarkably petty right now.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Cygnus? I swear it’s been years since he was even around. I thought you disliked him too much to learn anything from him.”

“Very mature, Tom.”

“Cygnus would have welcomed a murder to defend his honour.”

“Lestrange would have killed anyone who stood in your sunlight, given the chance, before prostrating himself at your feet in the hopes you’d call him a good boy. Lestrange also died decades ago, and is neither your fiancé nor the man you love. Would you show me enough respect to stop reminiscing about an old sycophant of yours who nearly killed me twice in some misguided attempt to get you to fuck him?”

“Of course, Harry. Where do you want to begin?”

Harry looked about ready to attack him, anger bubbling beneath his skin and setting his magic to writhing. Tom felt his own magic react, reaching out only to be very rudely rebuffed as Harry’s magic retreated until Tom could no longer sense it. He frowned as Harry’s shoulders slowly slumped, anger fading back into that same uncomfortable melancholia as before. It set Tom’s hackles raising with a sense of wrongness, to see Harry so dull when he should be vibrant. Annoyingly, it appeared Granger was right. Harry was hurting.

“I don’t know where we go from here, Tom. You betrayed my trust for an impulse.”

“If we’re being entirely fair, I cannot claim I was thinking entirely clearly. I was short on a few pints of blood, too.”

“I am going to have words with Zevi for that. He knew you should have been resting.”

“You’re the only one who is willing to stand up to me when I’m being irrational, darling.”

Harry flinched. Tom blinked, surprised.

“Don’t call me that. Not right now. Don’t act like everything’s okay between us.”

Tom realised his hands had formed into fists. Slowly, he relaxed, readjusting his posture. Harry actually looked guilty for asking for something entirely reasonable. The last thing Tom wanted was to propel Harry back into his old habits of concealing his wants and needs until they began to eat him from within.  

“What now, then?”

Harry didn’t answer immediately. His fingers trailed along the edge of the table, tracing the grain of the wood.

“I want to see your memories from the day.”

“Okay. I’ll have Kreacher fetch the pensive-“

“No. I want to Legilimise you.”

Tom couldn’t speak for a moment. To an outsider, that might have sounded like a punishment, or a request for Tom to have trust in Harry. With Tom’s level of ability in Occlumency, this was more like the exact opposite. While Harry could easily do a lot of damage to Tom’s mind if he wasn’t careful, Tom had the advantage of home ground, so to speak. He could crush Harry’s mind as it explored his own, or trap it to needle at his pleasure. Harry was essentially handing him power by requesting this, and they were both fully aware of it. This was a chance to prove that, at least in some sense, Harry’s trust was not misplaced. To prove Harry hadn’t lost his trust in Tom.

“I’ll allow it.”

Harry looked startled. Tom only lifted one eyebrow in response. Had he really expected Tom to refuse such an offer? Squaring his shoulders, Harry drew himself up to his full height, staring into Tom’s eyes.

He could feel the exact moment Harry entered his thoughts. He didn’t make any particular attempt at stealth, though he did move cautiously, heading only for the memories he had permission to view. Harry was polite like that. Still, the sensation of Harry flicking through his head wasn’t exactly pleasant, but what it represented was well worth the discomfort. And Harry had significantly improved in skill since their school days. This would leave no more than a mild headache, gone in an hour or so.

The first moments Harry sought were the ones when Tom was facing his own assassination attempt. His enemy had been a competent duellist, obviously trained in classical technique, but his stamina was severely lacking. After only a minute, he had begun to tire, while Tom hadn’t yet cast a single spell to his own defence. Tom was rather satisfied to feel Harry’s own defensive instincts rise up while watching Tom under attack, followed by disdain at the ineffective battle strategy of his opponent. He wondered if Harry had forgotten that legilimency left no barriers between their empathy bond, or perhaps that was the point. To prove what Harry felt at Tom’s actions was real and true, and not simply some over-exaggeration. He wondered if Harry was aware that feeling how much Harry disapproved of killing wouldn’t sway Tom on the subject.

A moment later Harry had found the spike of anxiety that spoiled Tom’s enjoyment, the realisation that Harry was probably also under attack. He followed it up to the moment when Tom had found Harry’s body.

Of course, Tom understood why Harry chose Legilimency to rebuild their trust. With Legilimency, you could examine the emotions that were woven into a memory instead of merely watching it. It was near impossible to tamper with, too, requiring the kinds of self lies that you believed at a subconscious level. It wasn’t as gentle as he might have liked for someone inside his mind. He winced at a particularly hard jab, subduing the reflex to attack the intruding force, although he did give Harry a warning squeeze through his occlumency. Harry’s emotions flickered to remorse for a second before continuing. His body gave a twitch where he stood in response.

Harry’s guilt was a familiar haze, spreading across from his mind like thick sea fog. He was up to the memories of their blood transfusion. Tom rolled his eyes skywards, refocusing on Harry’s as he felt the legilimency connection waver. Harry jabbed at him in irritation, and Tom winced again. Harry was always feeling too damn empathetic for his own good. What exactly was the point at feeling guilty now? They’d already made up for that particular trespass, the least Harry could do was wait until there was a little distance between them instead of drowning himself in guilt _within Tom’s head_. Although, knowing Harry, he’d probably been brooding on said guilt between brooding angrily on Tom’s actions, and winding himself up again. This was exactly why Harry shouldn’t have gone off on his own. Without Tom to intervene, he’d end up in some sort of endless loop of self-recriminations and regret.

Harry must have been at least partially aware of Tom’s current train of thought, because his response to that was made up of a rather long string of explicatives and a sensation that reminded him of an obscene hand gesture. Harry’s body twitched again. Tom felt this all rather proved his point.

Harry paused, feeling his way around the edges of this new memory. Tom identified it as the moment he’d awoken besides Harry, only minutes before he’s travelled to the abandoned basement that held Phillips and his most loyal followers. He seemed reluctant to press forwards. Tom supposed it was probably something to do with the fact that Harry was about to witness some of his closest friends performing an abhorrent act. He prodded at Harry, trying to encourage him to hurry up. Harry turned prickly in response, before diving forwards into the memory.

Finding Phillips strung up and unconscious, had felt rather like receiving a gift. Or perhaps passing through a lens. Circling the woman, Tom had felt everything vicious and bloody within him rising, everything he supressed or ignored for Harry’s sake reawakening. The truth was Tom was not designed for these peaceful talks and negotiations, though they were more effective at accomplishing his goals. Without Harry by his side, he would have long since grown bored of the political arena, at least as it is. Under Tom’s rule alone it would not be long before it was subverted into some brutal autocracy, his subjects loving his attention even as they feared it. Slytherin house had already been shaped into some primitive form of it long before Harry arrived, and even if he had never transformed into Voldemort Tom knew he would have carried that structure, refined it until no enemy of his could hope to usurp him.

Harry took this all in without flinching. Tom could feel himself smirk. Harry knew this side of him, fought against his sadism and supremacy and transformed it into something new. Harry saw him as he was, and still loved him, still prodded and aggravated him and turned him around until he lost all control and Tom loved him for it. Harry, who like some distorted mirror, reflected all that Tom was and made him better, more elegant, more efficient. Harry knew him, and it was intoxicating.

He watched as the memory played forth across his mind. Despite himself, from the very first moment he’d been aware Harry wouldn’t agree with his actions. That wasn’t enough to make him hesitate. Checking the mind of his victim for tampering took only seconds, and then Tom had begun his ministrations. First a flaying curse. Performed too quickly, and the subject could easily die from bloodloss, if not shock. Tom was an expert. Fingers first, then the skin from the hands. Next, the soles of the feet, and then the soft skin of the inner thigh. Around the face was particularly sensitive. By the time he was satisfied with the curse, the woman was already incoherent.

Harry watched. Tom noted Harry’s disgust, his compassion, quickly rising up in defence of the woman, though he didn’t back away. Tom wondered if there was any moment that could turn him away. It was a much more interesting study then merely rewatching an ultimately unsatisfying torture session. Harry didn’t flinch when Tom switched to the Cat’s Claw curse, tracing over the raw flesh. Nor when he began to apply a welding charm in a way that was decidedly more harmful than it was intended to be. Something in Harry’s attitude was shifting, though, growing with every minute the torture went on. Tom wouldn’t describe it as disappointment, exactly. Apathy. Desensitisation mixed with some colossal sadness and pain and anger. Harry understood why Tom was acting, he could feel Tom’s pleasure with every action, and it was causing Harry hurt. Tom wondered if perhaps that was why he’d felt no satisfaction at her death. It wasn’t like he was unaware of the way Harry would react, he’d known it from his first action and chosen to ignore it.

Tom had hesitated, at the end. He’d stared at the broken form that once might have been called a witch, only kept well enough to feel and know the pain of her existence. He could heal her, obliviate her, undo his actions of the past hours. Return to Harry, and ignore this lapse in control and judgement. Harry, who had been seconds from death at her hands.

Tom snapped her neck. It wasn’t a clean death, or a painless one, but it was still quick. He’d left without a word to his followers, knowing they would clean it all up. He couldn’t afford to waste a second more of time he could be spending near Harry. And he wouldn’t pretend this had never happened. Undoing torture didn’t make it never happen. He would accept whatever consequences followed.

Oddly, it was at these last thoughts that caused Harry to relax. He retreated quickly, dragging up the sand grains of regret Tom had felt at that moment until he could no longer ignore them. Not regret for the actions themselves, of course, but for the unnecessary negative impact he was aware they would have on his lover. And of course that was why Tom had felt uneasy as he had returned home.

As Harry returned to his body, Tom surged forwards, noting Harry’s exhaustion before he even began to collapse.

“That took more energy than I thought it would,” Harry’s voice mumbled near his ear. Tom rolled his eyes as he shifted to stand, supporting almost all of Harry’s weight.

“You haven’t been resting properly, have you?”

“You sound just like Hermione. I spend all day in bed, what more do you want?”

“Kreacher! Prepare a snack for Harry and myself. Something nutrient rich. I’ll ensure he eats it all.”

Kreacher, who had snapped in the room at his name, gave a rather menacing grin before popping out again. Harry rolled his eyes, pushing away from Tom until he was standing straight.

“Idiot. Legilimency is a powerful, and above all draining piece of magic.”

“Yeah, well, it was necessary.”

Harry moved to the window seat, bringing his knees up in front of him. He looked smaller this way, younger. Tom was unpleasantly reminded of that time shortly after Arthur Weasley’s death, when Harry nearly collapsed in on himself with guilt.  He looked lost.

Tom moved closer, reclining opposite him. Together they shared the silence, staring out across London. Grimmauld Place overlooked the grimier side of the city, old terraces and in the distance derelict factories lined the riverside dockyards. After a few minutes, Tom felt a hand encircle his ankle. Tom tipped his foot to brush against Harry’s hip.

“You know, this doesn’t really solve anything, Tom. I can say I forgive you, but that won’t just make it true.”

“Harry-”

“It hurts,” Harry swallowed. “And Tom, I’m so angry. You took a life. Actually tortured and killed a person.”

Harry’s eyes were suspiciously bright, reflecting the gaudy orange glare from the city.

“It isn’t the first time, for either of us.” Tom spoke softly.

“I know, but that was war time. In a rather unorthodox fashion, you were attempting to save my life. This isn’t…like that. And I’m not saying last time was okay, but at least there was a reason for it, and-”

Harry cut himself off, rubbing away a stray tear. His voice had gotten progressively rougher as he spoke. Tom couldn’t look away. The little grains caught in his throat – the ones he had refused to label regret until Harry had identified them so succinctly – grew larger, taking on a sharp edge. Harry shouldn’t be like this, not because of Tom. At least not unintentionally, and even then Tom knew when and how to hurt his fiancé. This wasn’t it.

“Will you come back home?”

Harry snorted, his grip momentarily tightening around Tom’s ankle.

“Probably. We have to keep up than united façade, right? Especially with this new enemy of ours.”

“Harry.”

“I need time, Tom. I have to…I need to work out how to move past this.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I want to postpone our wedding.  I don’t want it to be tainted by this.”

Not cancel. That was good. The wedding was planned for February, thankfully unannounced at this point. No one but the venue owners would have to know. Tom could contain this.

Still, that was months away. Was Harry still going to be brooding about this by then?

“Postponed until when?”

Harry glanced at him, one eyebrow raised in a sarcastic manner.

“Didn’t I just say I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get over this?”

Tom conceded, tilting his head to one side.

“Indefinitely postponed, then, until the summer.”

“Tom!”

“What?”

“Can you stop attempting to trap me in my own words?”

“Sweetheart, if I never trapped you, you’d never move forwards.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Are you really saying you’d have come this far if I didn’t push you?”

“We’ll never know, will we?”

“Thank Merlin.”

Harry was half grinning, and he had begun to uncoil a little. His thumb was rubbing small circles into Tom’s ankle in a way he suspected Harry was unaware of. It was only a few seconds later, though, that his smile slipped and Harry was staring back out of the window.

“Sure. Yeah, I’ll come home. For some reason I miss your company when you’re not around. I’m not budging on the wedding thing, though. Also I don’t want you in my bed.”

“Darling-”

“I’m serious, Tom. Fun as you are to be around, I keep looking at you and seeing Voldemort instead of my best friend.”

Okay, that one hurt a little. Harry was always the one who had looked beyond his personas, the one who picked out the truth and stood by him anyway. The only one clever enough, and aggressive enough, and kind enough to keep up. He didn’t settle for the flat truth of a single dimension, didn’t allow just one aspect to define each other when there were so many interwoven threads to choose from. Harry wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that before, not since the first few weeks after they’d met, before Tom knew the truth of their connection. Though, perhaps witnessing first-hand as Tom revelled in the pain of another was too much for him. It was so very different to how Harry experienced the world, and so very similar to the visions he used to receive from Voldemort. It was understandable that it brought up bad memories.

“Hey.” Tom looked back to Harry, his expression blank. Harry’s eyes wide and earnest in response. “This is what I mean. It’s not fair to either of us for me to pretend like nothing is different. I won’t lie and act like it’s all right, and that’s why we need space.”

Tom looked away.

“I’m not leaving. You know I never will.”

The idea of Harry leaving, actively trying to leave Tom and separate their futures, was abhorrent.

“You wouldn’t get far.”

“Probably not.”

They remained by the window until Kreacher returned with a tray laden in fresh fruit and several cheeses, and a loaf of bread still warm. Two cups of hot chocolate accompanied the platter, as well as a nutrient potion for Harry. They ate together for the first time in days, wordlessly sharing each-other’s company until Harry began to grow drowsy, leaning on Tom’s shoulder. Tom slid an arm around him when he was sure Harry wouldn’t notice. This was likely the closest they would get during the next few weeks, he wanted to savour it. He took a deep breath, drawing in Harry’s scent, rememorizing it.

They would move back to their house once Harry awoke. For now, it was enough.

 


End file.
